A Widow's Night

In the night, on the roof, the days beneath the moon, She hugs her son then kiss his cheek and sings a lovely tune, All the world, and the stars, were still to hear her song, Upon his head she place her hands, and he hears along, The awful past her youthful charm, Her sweet and handsome love, Her love is dead, and has flown, To the stars above. 'O my son, O my love', she wraps her son to chest, The sorrow night while hearing song, blew chilling wind from west, With the leaves, of the trees, the night then comforts grief, While drawing picture on his hand, by the fallen leaf. But on her soul a shadow lie, Long dead from broken heart, Her lovely knight, on her arms, Lie in reddish art. As he sleep, in the cold, she takes her son to bed, She kiss his head and sits beside, with pounding aching head, On the bed, with her son, and lips upon his hair, Alone she rests on mattress-pain, and no one to share Her love was dead and heart was torn, Far lost the shining smile, With painful tears, far from ease, Far to lonely isle. ©Anees Rahman