Those four days – Mother’s day special edition

May 8, 2016

"Those four days" is a real life narration. I still remember those four days when my niece just a year old suffered from viral diarrhea. The pain endured by her still brings tears to my eyes. Seeing my sister's anxiety and the pain in her eyes, I realised that the soul of a mother and child are woven into one. A mother's immense love for her child can never be fathomed. I dedicate this poetry to my sister Saba Arif Faiyaz and her daughter Afrah Faiyaz.

Those four days.

Jhunjhuna could still be heard in that hushed moonlit night,

but nothing seemed coaxing.

Mother sitting there like a bilious pigeon.

Father almost bewildered.

Nani incessantly on with her nuskas. 

One more diaper was left in that packet.

And then again a sudden outburst.


Nonstop suggestion from relatives worked even this time.

Morning brought with it a cab at the door.

Half an hour it took,

They reached,

Fifty-four was their number.

One more hour of cramp endured by that tiny little organ.


And then finally a metrogyl bottle along with the various yellow and white liquids.

Nothing withheld.

Flushed back in the same colour.

Vomikind was not kind to her,

It seemed.


Temperature fluctuating between ninety-nine and hundred and two.

Paracetamol sold in tonnes that week down the chemist shop,

because not just she but many shared the similarities.

Suddenly a pungent smell from other bed,

hard-pressed itself into every nose present there.

General ward it was.

Faces were made this side.

That side very happy as constipation got cured.


By now tears rolled down her mother’s cheeks as she applied that ointment on this red mark

on her soft and sensitive skin.

Next morning theirs’ was the only bed filled.

Rest three empty.

Others cured.

Others released.


By eleven in the morning, Cabin number three got vacated,

well equipped with worldly pleasures and hygiene.

Finally a sigh of relief!

She lied down on the sofa,

watched her favourite show.


One more bottle of metrogyl made it two and then three.

Changed medicines.

Two more days passed by.

Tonight a smell of shahi chicken and pulao,

comes from this kitchen,

just near that same room,

In that hushed moonlit night.


-By Saneya Arif

The best medicine when you are sick is having your mother by your side. Please share this beautiful poetry on Facebook and Twitter. Happy Mother’s Day from Creative Lichens to all the lovely mother’s 🙂 .