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Visitors
Mian Umer Latif
E2G3
A knock, a summon, from my mother’s hand,
With anger etched, on her troubled land.
A face unfamiliar, yet oh so known,
Until she spoke, “Visitors!” and my heart was thrown.
Memories rushed, like a swollen stream,
The grumpy swarm, of uncle’s critical scheme.
They invaded rooms, with judgmental eyes,
As if their own homes, were free from surprise.
I vowed in silence, with clenched fists tight,
To break free from their toxic, suffocating light.
To grow up, and shun their bitter sway,
And find solace, in a peaceful day.
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