What Greater Expectations than Great Expectations,
Miss Havishams’ so many, embedded secluded, on dusty
wooden gilded thrones, behind cobwebbed curtains,
Majestic Marvels, First Created, Sacred, now rest transfixed
in false reprehension, languishing in darkened streets
As scattered clouds scan terrestrial to celestial dimensions
blinking intermittent flashes only to find twisted torments
blood filled swamps, whirring swarms of discontents, amidst seas
of colorfully placed flowers ; Supreme Sopranos burnt to ashes.
Turning Around She Thought
O Woman’ What Mothers’ Day Means to You
created sacred beguiled abused
ordered bound accused excused
what woman’s day means to her
what nights will make her scream
day is work, no escape
night ‘love? no! rape..
fears and fears of rape
drugged missing real or fake?
should she think of women famous?
those who are seen on history pages?
should she think of those unseen
pushed kicked thrown in cages?
mothers and daughters in frustration
yet manage homes and serve nations
should she honor the saintly ones
who were obedient ordained
should she mention those half
widows, widows of genocide
chained enslaved in perpetual pain?
or those maids forced to labor
or those who hold kids while
parents dine and perhaps wine’
whom should she call ‘mine’
standing serving morn til nine-
and there are families royal
to the people crown so loyal
loved honored seen by all
that is not all…..
so many names graceful glorified
history remembers all sacrificed
she thought…cannot pick one or two
one in white, covered one in blue-
East or West old or new…Oh
Athena’ Wise One ! Help’ if only I knew
© 2019, Anjum Wasim Dar