Note: I started this poem on Eid day when I found myself sitting on the deck alone in the afternoon (we live in a small community and it’s hard getting a group together). If you don’t find your name mentioned in this poem, don’t be surprised. It was probably for the lack of a rhyme.
I could’ve spent Eid sharing Spanish-
Urdu jokes with my Gulnar.
She could’ve taught me to embroider
a cozy for my car.
Nothing could beat an Eid if filled
with Samosa-tales of spiced surprise –
except if we add Irving‘s wisdom
Punctuated by Ya Haqq cries.
If only I could’ve had my Eid
liberated from time and space,
I’d get the entire blogosphere –
well, the parts I like – face to face.
Cousin, Nermeen and Aaluchat
could all sing us a ghazzaly song.
We’d get them all here instead of adding
Facebook updates all day long.
But here we sit in cafes sniffing
indifferent strangers and coffee beans,
seeking out our distant friends
through keyboards and laptop screens.