Written piece
Warasat / Inheritance
Sunila Khan
Pakistan
About this piece
This is about my father, who grew up without his mother and motherland, but never snipping off the thread of belonging. His children inherited his loss and longing for a parent.
What do we bring to the world?
Longing
Belonging
When my father descended from the mountains
He had no idea
He and the home-land would never be separated
Home would always be the chosen one
The resting place
So, in peace my father lays there
No cemetery
In the land of the ancestors among the ‘living’
Who passing by those resting in peace
Raise their hands in prayer
And he perched on the nearby mountain
Can see what’s going on
In the courtyard of his home
With no doors
Neighbors those living near
And far
Pass through the courtyard with their cattle
Sometime alone
Walking by saying Salam loudly
Announcing they’re passing by
Some stop by and say they’ll have tea
The fig tree has lived on
The walnut died
The mulberry just stands there
Barren
My father’s mother planted them
They stand tall in her memory
Who died young
But her son was even younger
Who could never tell
How it feels like calling someone
Mother
The mountains, the springs, the trees
Raised him up
When ‘humans’ abandoned him
He had to leave the home-land
But he lived, loved, and thrived
Then proved
‘Death can do them apart’
wrong
The land and my father had the last laugh
They became one
Now no one can tell one from the other.