Then And Now Poem by Sibghatullah Khan

No one can call my name
like that
And fill my whole being
with love,
Pluck me a starry night
from dark blue
When moon stood waiting
for her turn.
Come a crease or a line
on my face,
She would bring me smiles,
and smother
(Me) with love, my mother,
sweet mother!

They have that art
to save things from falling apart,
So was mine- -
Her lap was fortress of a kind.
Shutting the sorrows out
she would not let
the cold wind touch my face.
My Open Sesame!
She would get me all
before any impatient tears
could fall.

And now, this world
has a cold, indifferent face:
I float like an autumn leave
tossing against the sidewalks,
looking for some warm, comfortable place.

When I'm really low
she does coming back
to kiss me back on track
when it's too dark for me to find my way

Thus I go
smiling past the fever and fret;
And when I have but to give way,
She comes calling ‘not yet! my! not yet! '