Once again, Pakistan finds itself debating a proposal that has surfaced repeatedly over the years—and every time it does, it raises the same
“May 14, Mother’s Day†Dr. Stephen Gill celebrates “ Mother’s Day†with his poetry dedicated to mothers who have lost their children in any Bomb attack by terrorists.
Mothers
do not weep.
Suffering from the frightening fancies
of the social lepers
dealers in death
wander around as the leopards of hatred
in the jungle of the crazed fanatics.
Shed your tears
from the skies of your fond memories
to stir the fathomless conscience
of the brutes.
Offer your hymns to a new birth
your children
baptized with your tears
sail on the white wings.
Notable nips outside the house
and the nights
when you snuggled your babies
beneath the quilts
or in front of your tvs
shall keep flooding back
the meanings of those moments.
In the citadel of your patience
lies a spot for your soul
to gather the grief to handle.
Wanton violence
was a knock or startling signals
to stamp out the plague
that scourges the defenseless lives.
Peace has been tested
in the cyclone of fresh dawn.
The panorama of the grimness
outlines the blueprints
to build the nest for tomorrow.
The days of the dense fog of danger
standing as the wall of wadding
have dissolved
in the fold of the spring.
Skies
spread their prismic wings
over the forces of confusion
for new vistas to emerge.
The season of sorrow
has rolled off.
The lotus of the present blooms
in new waters of decision.
Shadows have passed
the blood, dust and smoke
have cleared
yet the bones of a mother’s love
remain dislocated.
The skills of physicians heal
but healing a mother
wounded in her backyard
is a different episode.
Dear mothers
do not unfold
the bed of the past
a broken image
in the foggy mirror.
There are cradles
in which
new babies of aspiration
are to be rocked.
TO MOTHER
By Stephen Gill (sgill@ican.net)
Years have gone by
still
I see your tearful eyes
and catch the choking moans
coming from the crumbling pyramid
of pains.
When
dawn is dimmed
amidst dull clouds
and shroud is spread
on my despair
your name emanates
in pleasing designs.
Image of sacrifice
message of hope
you are highly prized.
The gift of this life
I owe to you.
A blind boy
shattered in destiny’s cage
I long for your loving care.
Mother dear
I wish you were here.
do not weep.
Suffering from the frightening fancies
of the social lepers
dealers in death
wander around as the leopards of hatred
in the jungle of the crazed fanatics.
Shed your tears
from the skies of your fond memories
to stir the fathomless conscience
of the brutes.
Offer your hymns to a new birth
your children
baptized with your tears
sail on the white wings.
Notable nips outside the house
and the nights
when you snuggled your babies
beneath the quilts
or in front of your tvs
shall keep flooding back
the meanings of those moments.
In the citadel of your patience
lies a spot for your soul
to gather the grief to handle.
Wanton violence
was a knock or startling signals
to stamp out the plague
that scourges the defenseless lives.
Peace has been tested
in the cyclone of fresh dawn.
The panorama of the grimness
outlines the blueprints
to build the nest for tomorrow.
The days of the dense fog of danger
standing as the wall of wadding
have dissolved
in the fold of the spring.
Skies
spread their prismic wings
over the forces of confusion
for new vistas to emerge.
The season of sorrow
has rolled off.
The lotus of the present blooms
in new waters of decision.
Shadows have passed
the blood, dust and smoke
have cleared
yet the bones of a mother’s love
remain dislocated.
The skills of physicians heal
but healing a mother
wounded in her backyard
is a different episode.
Dear mothers
do not unfold
the bed of the past
a broken image
in the foggy mirror.
There are cradles
in which
new babies of aspiration
are to be rocked.
TO MOTHER
By Stephen Gill (sgill@ican.net)
Years have gone by
still
I see your tearful eyes
and catch the choking moans
coming from the crumbling pyramid
of pains.
When
dawn is dimmed
amidst dull clouds
and shroud is spread
on my despair
your name emanates
in pleasing designs.
Image of sacrifice
message of hope
you are highly prized.
The gift of this life
I owe to you.
A blind boy
shattered in destiny’s cage
I long for your loving care.
Mother dear
I wish you were here.
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"Trial of Pakistani Christian Nation" By Nazir S Bhatti
On demand of our readers, I have decided to release E-Book version of "Trial of Pakistani Christian Nation" on website of PCP which can also be viewed on website of Pakistan Christian Congress www.pakistanchristiancongress.org . You can read chapter wise by clicking tab on left handside of PDF format of E-Book.