Death of Shareethatha. The death I don't believe in.

My Shareeftatha 

Became no more yesterday 

Shareefthatha...

A great little lady,

A great little phenomenon,

Who could turn the small into big,

Really a great miracle 

Was my Shareefthatha.

******

No one other than 

My own mother, then Shareefthatha 

Has ever been fluttering 

Always in my mind.

To Allah (God)

If there can be any face in my mind

For sure it's only mom's.

Then only Shareefthatha's.

The face of the moon itself.

Shining above the moon,

As the one who causing the moon to lit

No one sees the light that is real.

That is my Shariftatha.

*****

In maintaining all relationships,

She was the umbilical cord.

A silent presence without any claim,

So much for relationships

She took her life.

Only with the mercy 

That flowed through out 

She fed the whole life.

The selflessness

She weaponized,

A life she proved, that

There is no life

To be lived only for herself,

That was Shareefthatha....

*****

Certainly

There were many houses

In the family and around.

But, to hear the call of hunger

As much as Shareefthatha 

There was no house.

As much as Shareefthatha

A solution to hunger

There was nothing else.

Good food no one ate 

To his stomach fill and heart's content

Except from Shareefthatha,

That was my Childhood memories.

Shareefthatha's food

Filled no one's stomach,

But the whole mind.

Shareefthatha was really filling 

With her food 

The whole world.

Actually,

Good the food was 

Shareeftatha.

Roots that went deep down 

Was the good food 

Given by Shareefthatha.

The branches of life was 

Really raised in the heavens

With the food and mercy

Of Shareefthatha.

As if there was no

Better meal 

Other than Shareefthatha's

Pleasant smile.

*****

Shareeftatha

Who found richness in poverty

Built a new sky 

That no one has ever seen.

Boundaries of hatred and divisions

Have no place

In the vastness of her skies.

Such a uniquness was Shareefthatha,

That in her poverty she painted 

The colours of richness.

In extreme poverty

The magic that she fed everyone 

Who happened to pass by her.

Never to anyone

She spelled the spellings of poverty.

Such a grand richness was 

Always there in her great smile.

******

There were many houses 

There around in the family.

However,

To celebrate the life 

There was only one.

She was a celebration.

In her celebrated and slept the life.

With Shareefthatha

In her little house.

How many people?

No numbers.

How many days

No numbers.

Vacation always celebrated

Only in Shareefthatha's little house.

My mother's

Ooty and Munnar,

Switzerland and Singapore were 

Shareeftatha's just a small house.

The palace, where 

In the bright light of

Kerosene lamp

I saw the bigger worlds.

Than the light of kerosene lamp, 

The light spread tenfold greater

In Shareefthatha's little house.

In a house 

Where the face Shareefthatha itself 

Was the real light 

Beyond all the colours of lights. 

That is how My childhood was 

In Shareefthatha's pilinjol

There,

The curiosity piqued

Rain, thunder and lightning.

Telling the story of Panchali.

Drinking as much bean stew as one can.

Leelechi and her children became 

Family members.

Shareefthatha herself was 

A good place to stay.

Shareefthatta gave good shelter.

Mango and Jackfruit

Made as much food as possible.

That was Shareefthatha.

******

All the rich in the family

When they became poor 

With their miserliness 

When they became poor 

By making their miserliness

As their richness,

Impoverished by wealth,

Only Shareefthatha became rich.

Shareefthatha became rich

By quenching and feeding 

And spreading shade to all.

All those who came up there 

Satisfied their hunger 

And quenched their thirst.

Everyone was given

With a home and food there.

She got to be rich 

From nothing.

The only woman such.

A simple woman

Who turned her hut so small

Into a spacious palace.

Space, comfort and spaciousness

For her was not the things to be found 

Outside, or at house.

Rather, it was within herself.

That was the only talk she walked 

As the only brave woman.

A proper Sufi.

That overflowed with the fullness.

The only Sufi.

Isolated on a twig,

Against the whole world

A Sufi who covered herself.

Shareefthatha.

*****

How speedily

Death makes us

So trivial...

How easy death has become,

How easily death 

Makes us not who we are...

Many die.

Like rainflies 

Dying in a fire,

With the desires

That the mouth gets filled

Only with the soil

Everyone dies.

Soil is the only medicine.

But some deaths,

Death of Shareefthatha,

Is like a storm.

Just holds us back.

Not because of her size and grandeur.

Not because of her pride and power.

Instead, with the simplicity.

With the humility shown.

Not because she lived

In a small world

Seeing it as a big one.

But because,

Never this big world 

That is really small to her,

Tempted her to any level,

And never impressed her too.

Some deaths

Quench its thirst 

Only by drinking the moonlight.

A death like that is...

The death of Shareefthatha.

Without having to say anything,

Death said it all for her.

Death is not painful.

Pain is in our efforts

Not to die.

The death of shareefthatha said it.

Trying not to die is the pain.

This death of shareefthatha said it clearly.

Death of Shareefthatha.

Still, the death I don't believe in.