The long, carefree days of summer are winding to a close, giving way to autumn. Hints of amber tug at the lush green leaves of the crepe myrtle standing tall in my backyard, a gentle reminder that change is in the air. Yellow school buses have begun to dot the landscape, transporting children to days of reading, writing, and routine. I recall the days when I was sitting on the bus staring out the window at all the cars speeding past. Life now has me behind the wheel, reflecting on where time has gone and where I am heading. While driving my daughter to school, we found ourselves stopped behind the bus. I turned to her and asked her if she could assign a season to each of the stages of life, where would she find herself?
Nowadays, I find myself nestled between nurturing and comforting my children and my elderly parents. I often marvel at the repetitive patterns in nature and how humans move through various stages in life. I have noticed some striking physical and emotional similarities between my elderly parents and my children. In this poem, I draw inspiration from Suraht Yasin, verse 68 and explore what it’s like to be sandwiched between these two generations; each season represents a different stage of life.
Seasons of Life
Seasons as we know
come and go
Repeating familiar cycles of new, becoming, and old
I too am in a season
A season in motherhood
sandwiched between what is becoming bright and bold
and what is fading into the cold
I watched cautiously as a young seedling braced herself against the torrent of
a spring shower
Delicate and new, roots yet to take hold
She was struggling, stubborn yet determined to stand tall despite what she was told
I smiled proudly seeing her succeed
The April showers
Led her to steadfastness, strength, and power
She peaked in the carefree, casual days of summer
To march to her own beat and to be her own drummer
Where she basked in the zenith of her confidence, brilliantly and boldly
I stood silently observing the falling of what was familiar to me
Vibrant green had given way to plum, burgundy and rust
The colors breathtaking and robust,
but am I ready to adjust?
It is winter and I gaze upon your delicate and leafless outline
bracing yourself against an icy winter downpour
You are struggling, stubborn yet determined not to fall
Once a mighty oak
Many you had comforted beneath your lush and leafy cloak
Now delicate and frail
With roots far outstretched loosening their hold in the land
But securing a legacy of leading with ihsan
I am in a season of awe and accepting and the inevitable.
My parents who used to hold me firmly
now shakily take my hand
As a believer I accept:
“And he whom We grant long life,
We reverse him in creation (weakness after strength).
Will they not then understand?” (36:68)
Written for the Daybreak Dispatch, by Sarwat Khan, Writing Circle Member