Jahara A. Solaiman
Ramadhan Greeting
This, from me to you,
To family and neighbors too.
Here’s to a bounteous Ramadhan for you and me,
Boundless blessings be to the community!
Our dear ones at the iftar table may we always gather,
And remember those who cannot make it, and the ones gone forever.
May faith nourish our spiritual hunger,
Remembrance of the Almighty will feed us, one way or the other.
A prayer to aid the troubled and tormented,
A plea for wisdom for the misguided.
May all be healed with kindness and generosity,
A better world for you and me.
Glad tidings of Ramadhan I bring to thee,
May we thrive in its essence infinitely!
“Ipita Ko so Ranon, Igabi so Tadman”
(Love for Breakfast, Reminiscences for Dinner)
Love is best eaten at breakfast.
Straight from the pan, newly fried, comes joy.
Steam dissipates into the morning mist the heady fragrance of a mug of warmth.
A generous slice (or two) of savory emotions completes the spread.
The daybreak plate is always full and satiating.
Alas! At dusk it is never.
Nourishment left aside spoils sometime after.
Memories are all that’s left for dinner.
The Rice Farmer
Barefoot,
His cracked heels dig deep
Into the thick sludge.
Set to do what his forbears had done for ages:
Living the travails of earthly toil.
Summoning them to bring forth
The golden grains that feed an ungrateful multitude.
The sticky mire oozes between his toes,
As he bends, gently laying the fresh green shoots into the mushy slush.
All this, while thoughts swirl through his head.
Of whether the weather will remain kind,
Of why the ravenous snails seem to just appear from nowhere,
Of why his life, like his muddy feet,
Seemed to sink deeper into the grime.
And whether the market will do him justice this time.
At dusk, upright he stands,
His back broken by labor and scorched by the sun.
His hands and feet spent,
He looks at his fields verdant with plantlet tips,
A worried prayer escapes his lips,
No recourse but to leave it all to the One.