“They will kill you for this love,” she cried in the anguish of a woman about to miscarry. “You will die! And for this woman…this whore,” her words spat a cold venom.
I shut my eyes and muted her torture. With the room heavy and the air so stale and oppressive, to breathe was to asphyxiate. “Peace mama, I will not ask for your blessing, only for your tolerance and understanding”. Unhearing, she melted in her desperate pool of grief.
As I walked towards the door, I passed the colourful framed aayah that hung on the wall. They were the signs of what my mother believed I had forsaken. “In the name of Allah, the most compassionate, the most merciful”. I still believed He would be.
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2 comments:
Wow.
powerful.
sharre...are you writing a book? if you aren't you better start.
and when it's done, please send me a signed, sealed and delivered copy
heheh ;P
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