Poetry and Prayers

Blossoms in Sanandaj, Kurdistan, 13 Be Dar, April 2008.

Sorry for the long absence! I had to do my taxes, as they could not be procrastinated any longer! So, they are done and this is the 4th black cloud shifting and disappearing in my sky, with a few more waiting their turns this week! By the end of next week, I plan to have none of those hanging on my head for a while to come. We'll see!

Some of my older son's poems are about to be published and I'm really excited, probably more so than him! His writing is so good, you guys! He never believes me when I tell him this, so hopefully when he sees other people's interest in his poetry, he will grow more confident and will write more. As shy as he is about sharing his writing, even with me, well, probably specially with me because I tend to go overboard with compliments, he is not shy about talking his mind with me.

I woke up very early today to fetch my papers and files in preparation for the dreaded taxman (not really, he is my kin!). I was concentrating on reading some documents when he came in and started talking to me. He is our token "morning person" in the family. When he was a baby, he would wake up early in the morning and would start singing in his crib! This is how I knew he was awake. He never cried and was never cranky in the morning. The same characteristic has followed him (and me!) into his adult years. He is full of energy and joy and ideas and words first thing in the morning, which doesn't sit really well with me and his brother, as we are quiet and cranky in the mornings! But there's no stopping him from talking to us and trying to engage us in a conversation, as was the case this morning, except I was cranky and quiet and concentrating on the dreaded tax dossier!

He talked to me and told me stories and played music on his computer for me. Just as I was warming up to the conversation and actually paying attention to him, he and his brother left the house for work. I sat here by myself for a few minutes, thinking about him. Much like he doesn't know how good his poetry is, he doesn't know what effect he has on people. Nothing I say will convince him, because I'm his mother and prone to exaggerations, he thinks. I found myself praying a prayer for the two of them and their health and safe return home. I remembered my own mother reading the same prayer for us all the time. I don't mind resembling my mother anymore, for I finally understand her more than I ever did when she was alive.