Featured Poem

by Faisal Mohyuddin

My father is in the kitchen
making a morning
cup of tea, singing a song
he first heard
when he was a schoolboy,
when both he and Pakistan
were full of possibility.

He claims his memory
is failing, but the song rolls off
his tongue
with such ease I can’t help
imagine him suddenly transported
back in time
when Indian films
could ignore history and dwell
on simpler things,
like love.

When my father’s song
goes quiet, I pretend his silence
is due to forgetfulness.
I fail to realize
that his eyes have fallen
through the dark
bubbling surface of the tea
and found
for just a moment
the face of his father,
a man who long ago taught
my father this song,
sang it every morning
until the day he disappeared.

~ from the Riddle of Longing
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