Its time to sit together and,
we the people,
are sitting in our front-yard,
stretched to the ends of our home.
Our grand-maan,lying on a charpoy,
surrounded by her daughters,sisters and grand-daughters,
some ask her “how do you feel Amman”?
some say “you look better Mayi”.
Some sitting close to her,
some helping her to take a sip,
moving the handmade fans across her,
and she blesses all, with a smile.
As its time to sit together,
we ,the males, sitting a bit apart,
break our silence,
to keep the huqqa alive.
As its time to sit together,
a daughter-in-law makes tea,
and a young girl moves the cups ,
from one to other guest.
Its time to sit together,
when we fall ill or a child comes to life
when we bring a bride home,or,
when we bid farewell to our old.
As its time to sit together,
here comes the father and I stand,
walk behind him,
keeping a pace not to pass his feet.
He sits beside the grand-maan,
say some silent words,rubs his lips on huqqa,
like an old Chinese peasant,
looks towards the sun and thinks.
Some more come Allah sukh desi,
Some say Allah Sayien dewe,
some say Allah hi karsaaz
its time to sit together.
The gate opens and enters,
Baba Iqbal,and all the women,
young and old,daughters and sisters
rise and take blessing by his old hand.
He touches his turban,grips the pipe ,
holding a cup of half-cold tea,
says “its the time for us,
to sit together.”
