Going For A Curry

“It’s a Boy!” prounced the midwife,
“Alhamdullilah,” praise be to Allah, said the mother.

Distribute mataii, Indian sweetmeats,
To the whole village and all the relatives.

Those born with a silver spoon,
Or even in a presidential palace,
Envy the destiny of this poor
Mirpuri peasant’s son.

My son,
The beloved nephew of Reshma,
My sister in Walayat,
Whose daughter he will marry
And settle in Walayat.