Ashraf Gohar Goreja

White Gliding Horse

During the long winter night
Implicit and cold.
Crispy, icy and solitary sight
Shadows of autumn trees
Stretching from one end to another;
Averting luminance windows' light
Into scars on the dark face
Of swarthy chilling night.

A mom in her child's bed room
For long been trying to make
Her restless baby asleep.
Nine December will make her four
And she hardly could adore,
Deep salience in the house;
Winter bound quite street
And all around her board.

Her windows and door
Were shut for the night
But a small ceiling vent
Opening into the corridor;
Continually that conveyed.
Inarticulate sound of crying child
And mom's sweet but fading lore.
Could hardly enchant the minor soul.
Suddenly, the mom heard.
A gentle tapping
On the exterior door.
An old friendly neighbor
Dissonance chorus made him to explore.
Helping child to fall asleep
With his melodious, foretold.
Song from Southern deep.

He sat in the couch.
Beside the baby's bed
Giving elucidated broad smile;
Turning his head towards the child,
Posing to be a humorous clown
But the child hastily back down.

Then he started singing.
In his tired and fainting pitch.

'Close your scarlet eyes,
Fly my dear child, fly.
Towards the ruffling clouds
On the white Irish horse
Fast and fluttering...'

He was singing his melody,
But the child kept staring him deep,
At his broad wrinkled face.
Abruptly, the old man started to snore,
Falling himself into deep sleep.
Awkward snoring amused the child.
She gave a bright smile,
Heavenly, tender and mild.
Then the gliding white horse
Took her in dreamland for a ride.

Ashraf Gohar Goreja
Copyright December 16,2002.
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