The Museum of Abandoned Streets

Grandparents

She's almost 80, my grandma,
and her husband of almost 60 years passed this year,
which is to say, my grandfather is no more,
neither are the traditional fables that he used to narrate,
to all the kids in the family,
including me.

I look at the wrinkles on her papery skin,
which is a little fairer than mine, I guess,
because I'm a chocolate cookie,
maybe not so brown but still brown, even though I was not overbaked,
but that doesn't even make sense,
because chocolate cookies are mostly brown,
overbaked or not,
unless its white chocolate,
which, certainly, isn't in me.

I look at her lost eyes that are deep blue,
because of the lens in her eyes,
which are a result of some optical surgery,
and wonder if I remember the real colour of her eyes,
or is it lost in a sea of memories,
just like my beloved grand father.

I grew up listening to her recite the Holy Quran,
along with the 6 am tilawat resonating on the old TV screen,
while my grandfather laid down to rest a little,
after the morning prayer and waited for the breakfast.

Is it sad that watching her sit all alone,
reminds me of a bicycle with one of its wheel lost,
somewhere at hands of some unfortunate event,
only to leave behind remains, all useless and broken?

I look towards my grand father's room and it hits me,
a pang of nostalgia for my childhood,
half of the memories of which,
hold the smile on his lovely face,
and I know that when he died,
so did my childhood.

Then I look down at the age creeping over my grandma's visage,
while she smiles sadly because I'm her favourite grand child,
and I think that I will never have the energy to decide,
if her loss is greater than mine,
because if I did this,
knowing that I feel dead inside me,
God forbid, it scares me to even think,
she'd be dead for real by now.

17/10/2019

~~~

~Glossary~

● Holy Quran - central religious text/book of Muslims
● tilawat - recitation or reading the extracts or portions from the Holy Quran.