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This
section contains works written for primary school children. It
is guaranteed to work for they grew out of my children's distinct desire to
be so special that they would not want to listen to traditional nursery
rhymes and got their poor father making these up for them! It was
diamond! Teachers, parents, nursery nurses and early years
professionals are welcome to use these materials so long they are credited
to the Author.
A Poem
A Poem is a sulky dog
A difficult hedgehog
Who writes his own cyber blog
A poem is a bowl of porridge
Eaten in on Mulberry Bridge
Where shadows dance sundridge
A poem is a funny book
That you read on a sunny brook
Where fishes catch rainbows with a hook
Go
to Top
The Mouse and Cat War
There's a mouse
In this land
Of tomatoes and pickles
There's a mouse
In every house
Cohabited by a cat
Be he Tom or be she Tammy
Matter it does not
There's a constant chase
And relentless evasion
That nicely goes all day long
The cat and the mouse
And the mouse and the cat
Go round and round the habitual train
Where's there's a musing mouse
There's generally a curious cat about
And there are mice and cats
In this land of tomatoes and pickles
Where chubby chickens dance
Kentucky chickens
Where fatty pigs sing
Weatherby's knees
The Farmer Mr Bugsey Bogs
Got his cats
To get his mice
And he fed them
Pickled portabella ham
And he gets them
Purified juice of
St Maria's Orangey apple
And when the cats are drunk
Having drunk
Salisbury's Ales
With Bitter Buckelworth's lemons
They fall about
Here and there
And their snoring goes up in the air
As though they were hung up hair
Of mermaids on fires
Only then the mice
Feel a little feel good frills
And they come out
In their dozens
Wearing designers' dresses
And they dance
A mousey marvellous dance
And they eat the left over foods
Yummy and del
They fill their tummies
And when the drink
The left over ales
Without knowing
They followed their dizzying heads
To the ground
And the strongest of mice
Still breathing begin to sing
A lullaby of musing mouse
At middle of the night
The whole den of mixed up mice and cats
Deep in their sleep
Invaded by dreams
Cats chasing mice
Mice dancing merry go merry
Round about
Right in Disneyland Resort
Then there came the mouse fairy
In their dreams
"You little imbeciles!"
She shouted in their dreams
"You are sleeping with the enemies!
Waiting to be eaten alive!
Cats! They have lives to spare
Three times three
Making a whopping nine
If you care to count!"
Sick to their head
The mice sank in their nightmare's ocean
"What! Sleeping with cats!"
And they wake up
And stumbled up and down
The cats bodies that littered the place
All furry and purry
The mice ran in a whirlwind of rush
They hid deep underground
By the time the sun caught the cats
Snoring still soaping up their dreams
Then came the Tally Cat
In the Farm
That was a gift
For Farmer Mr Bugsey Bogs
From Ms Patricia Pot
Who was secretly in love
With him who she called
"My Darling Doggley Woggle!"
Tally Cat Tally cat
Loves killing mice
In fact he wore a gold
On his dress all the time
That he won
In the last Catalympic
For catching and killing
Nothing but bemused mice
In a huge shinny cage
The mice
Having eaten
Taipei rice
With dogberry sauce
And spicy porridge with
Pollen Ginger bread
Called a meeting
On the cellar of
Mr Bugsey Bog
Who was busy
Playing host to Ms Patricia Pot
Who fell fast a sleep
Bored to death by her
"Darling Doggley Woggle!"
"The wise mouse Wiley
Looking old and sleepy
Sat there in a bed of straws
Smoking his hookah
That was sent by an Egyptian mouse
Who rules the kingdom of Egypt
Where cats are waxed in museum walls
Wiley stood and began to speak:
"Comrades! Mouse or not, matter it not
We have a right to live
Our mousey little lives
In a purr free peace!"
Every little mouse
Clapped a little clap
Creating a waves of sounds
Wiley mouse went:
"Therefore, I propose to oppose the cats
Will all our might
Upstairs and downstars
Upper lower or mid ground
This is a war
A war of mice against cats
And we brothers in this
Either them or us!"
There was a huge applause
And there came the silence
As though a huge cat
Resembling Tally Tally Cat
They planned all night long
Their plans of war
Their drawings of battles
Which all came and went
Until they fell asleep
There went the battle
There went the war
Mice die mice live
Under the tyranny of cats
In this land of tomatoes and pickles
Where mouse and cats
Fight this habitual battle
That goes round and round
Like a habitual train
Go
to Top
In the Middle of the Night
In the Middle of the Night
You can be sure
There must be a door
Behind that cupboard
Which strikes a chord
In the middle of the night
Does it not give you a terrible fright?
Behind that cupboard
Trust me there is a door! God!
Don't you feel a chilly cold?
Hold it still! Hold
In the middle of the night
Does it not give you a terrible fright?
Bob and Hob talk
On the bunk bed in the dark
"Did you see the ghost?"
Bob got frost in his chest
In the middle of the night
Does it not give you a terrible fright?
They saw something moving
And the window curtains shivering
A ghost with a torch
And a glass of gin and scotch
In the middle of the night
Does it not give you a terrible fright?
Last summer when all were at sea
Having fun in the sand with cold tea
Guess what they did
These ghosts in need
In the middle of the day
On the spooky Saturday
The came out and had a party
And they ate a lot of smarty
Made a lot of mess
While played some chess
On dad's chess board
All day long
Until the clock ding dong!
Go
to Top
There's Butterfly on the Run
There's a butterfly on the run
He stole the pollens of geraniums
And the Garden Police are looking for him
Look out for the butterfly who is on the
run
Do not approach him because he is armed
He is armed with a pair of wings full of pollens
There's a butterfly on the run
And the Garden Police are looking for him
If you see him don't hand him out
Go
to Top
Butterfly Song
Butterfly Butterfly where do you fly?
From where do you get your dyeing done?
Who is your fashion designer?
Butterfly Butterfly who paints your wings?
So colourfully done
From where do you train to fly?
Butterfly Butterfly who does your face?
From where do get your butter supply?
And how do you make so many friends?
Butterfly Butterfly why don't you sing?
If you ever sang call me in
For you would sing better than the nightingale
Go
to Top
You have to Tie a Tie
You have to tie a knot in a tie
But you can lock a lock
You can go round the block
Wearing your tie leaving your room locked
When you cannot unlock the lock
All you need to do is
Call the locksmith in
And he will sort it out pretty soon
But when you cannot untie your
tie
You cannot call in a tiesmith's help
Although you may call your mum or dad
And they will sort your tie out in no time
Go
to Top
Now You Know You Can
You can hold a little air
In your palms
And pretend it to be a living thing
And you can make friend with it
So when it becomes wind
It could take you for a ride
You can look at the sky
And hold it in as a floating leaf in your eyes
And pretend it to be a living thing
And you can make friend with it
So when the sky comes in your garden
It could play with you
You can look at the earth
Hold her in the home of your heart
And pretend her to be a living thing
And as though she is your mother green
So when you need love and care
She would give you plenty to go around
Now that you know
That you can do
Treat the air, sky and earth
As though they are living things
So that you have friends all around
Talk to them and play with them
And show them your love and care
So that they know how to love you back
Go
to Top
Come and Sing with Me
Come and sing with me
We are gonna sing for the wind
To bring in rains
Come and sing with me
Come and sing with me
We are gonna sing for the sea
To bring in tides
Come and sing with me
Come and sing with me
We are gonna sing for the trees and green
To bring in oxygen clean
Come and sing with me
Come and sing with me
We are gonna sing for the Sun
To bring a new dawn
Come and sing with me
Come and sing with me
We are gonna sing for the Moon
To bring a night of dreams
Come and sing with me
Come and sing with me
We are gonna sing for the Earth
To turn us live and green
Come and sing with me
Come and sing with me
We are gonna sing for the birds
To bring sweet melodies in
Come and sing with me
Go
to Top
Miss Milson Wilson
Miss Milson Wilson
Calls us Persons
As if we were
Hung up clothes
In a dry cleaner's shop
Miss Milson Wilson
Goes through
Hobson's stuff
And she screams
Like a lunatic
Out on the street
All she found
Was few little ants
Crawling out of
Hobson's horrid little bag
"Hygiene! Mr Hobson
Little Miss Milson Wilson
Calls in a rage
And down falls
A rotten sandwich
Made in a restaurant
By red little ants
Right little Hobson
Felt a little hot
His cheeks showed red card
He closed his eyes
In rush of sanity flushed
Go
to Top
Stung By a Bee
The monkey went up the tree
With a pea with a pea
He stayed there for a while
While a bee stung his knee
He rushed down in a hurry
With his bee stung knee
And he sat on the ground
Wet by the rain for free for free
Paul and Mrs Part
Paul set to get the ball
Out of the roof
Climbing up he got stuck
Half way up the wall
Screaming for help
He flung his arms high up in the air
Running down Mrs Part
Broke off her poor ankle
Go
to Top
That Man is Sick
That man is sick
He is a thickety thick
I don't like him
Because there's some
Jelly in his chin
Well, that's what I think
When I think of him
That man is sick
He talks with his dog
When he takes him for walks
He wears a funny hat
And walks like a dragon in pain
Well, that's what I think
When I think of him
That man is sick
I don't like him at all
He smiles at you when he happens to
Pass you by
He likes children a lot
He has some hidden paws and claws
Well, that's what I think
When I think of him
I don't like him at all
He is sick that man is
He is a thickety thick
Why is he nice?
Even though all are nasty to him?
I don't like that man
He is sick
And makes me sick
He is different
That man is
He makes me sick
Even though there's nothing wrong
With him at all
Or his dog or his dress
I don't like him at all
Why he has to be different?
Why can't he be like everyone else?
Go
to Top
Martian Mirk
Martian Mirk
Does not wear hat
In fact he is a fat
Huge pig form Mars
Martian Mirk
Is really not a pig
Rather he dug
All his friends' reddish tunnels
Martian Mirk
Alien of course
Eats eleven-course
Day and night
Martian Mirk
Wears his cap
On his flap
Yet walks like a pat
Martian Mark
Marks his things
In case it rings
When he is peeing
Martian Mirk
Well he is smart
Yet wears no shirt
Lives on a balloonic cloud
If you see him
Martian Mark that is
Tell him this
He should eat cabbages with potato rings
Go
to Top
Trust Me He Was There
Well there he was
Standing at the bus stop
With a busted pair
A busted pair of trousers
He was wet
Standing in the dark
With his hands hanging
Like a wet silky scarecrow
He was shivering
Like a jelly on the plate
Yet he was smoking his pipe
And his smoke
Carling up high like a flying cat
He was standing at the bus stop
With his shirt sleeves rolled
There was a bird on his head
And it was poohing all over his top
Trust me he was there
Wet and silky shivering up and down
Not waiting for the bus
But his alien cousin to come
Go
to Top
Newkiller for You
For the girls one penny
For the boys two
If you pay by Credit Cards
It is free for you
For the men up market
For the ladies down
For you it is nuclear
If you are Bush it is "newkiller" for you
For Americans democracy
Justice too and
Due process of law
Send the rotten terrorists to Guantanamo Bay
Go
to Top
This is a Story for
Much Older Young Guys
On
Retrospect
Hearing
“On retrospect,” Jamila’s mind got stuck with the phrase because she
had never heard that expression before. Watching television on a Sunday
morning from no particular liking, Jamila was looking at the pages of a
magazine. Annette, who adopted Jamila few years ago, was reading a book at
the other sofa. Jamila turned round to ask Annette of the meaning of “on
retrospect” only to realise that she had gone out of the room. Jamila got
up and walked out of the room to find Annette.
She
found Annette in the Kitchen making a coffee.
“Annette,
what does ‘on retrospect’ mean?”
“On
retrospect means looking back, another expression people use for this is on
hindsight.”
“On
hindsight! Looking back!” Jamila got her answer, which made her appear
distraught and distant. Walking out of the kitchen she said: “Thanks
Annette.”
Jamila
went upstairs in her room and stood at the window overlooking the valley
that went all the way to the seaside. The sky looked bright grey. Jamila’s
eyes appeared sad and distant.
There
it was. The door where hung a thin silver net curtain, see through, that
stood like a wind blown paddy field only it was not green due to a gush of
wind some time ago but stayed there still. That curtain reflected Jamila’s
mind in that room sitting at the chair on her own not knowing what was going
to happen to her, not knowing whether to be scared or hopeful. A sense of
dread and fear spread a smell in the room that seemed not used very much.
Jamila
was sitting inside a room that was lit with a low voltage light which
created a fifty fifty dark and light environment. Mr Bell got her in that
room and said a lot of things and tried his best to sign translate them for
her to understand, but she did not know a single word of English. She had
never been to a school and thus did not understand a word of what he had
said or signed.
Jamila
could still remember that day at Molden Hill School. Her first day at a
school in England or anywhere in the world for that matter stood in her mind
like a monument of sharp and painful memories that refused to go away.
How
did she end up in England after all that blood and loss! She still found it
difficult to patch everything together.
“Somalia!”
Jamila said the word out loud in the room where it fell suddenly like a
bomb!
Somalia!
The land where she was born in a village, which seemed her world surrounded
by mountains, trees and valleys and where she was happy with her parents and
siblings until the war broke down the serenity of the land.
Her
father was not a rich man. He worked in the field all day and came home
tired but he was happy. They had enough to eat. Jamila had a lot of friends
to play with and she could help mother cook outside the house in the summer
evenings. The white smoke curled up the air causing their eyes burn and
become full of tears; wiping the eyes with dirty hands made the face looked
laughably dark but the out product of mum’s cooking tasted heavenly.
She
remembered her father sitting at the yard, smoking the hookah and singing in
early evening and his friends would begin to come and join him. They would
have red tea and chat and sing. They would sometime laugh loud and dance
while Jamila and her siblings would play outside on the yard and danced with
their childish games.
Jamila
soon lost all that. One dawn. The brutal dawn she started calling it when
she learnt the English words brutal and dawn.
It
was raining all night; heavy rain as though the sky had decided to come down
hard to wipe the world out and transform it into water. They could hardly
sleep because of the torrential down pours and sound of the storm outside.
The thatched house stood like a wet scarecrow and moved about by the will of
the storm. The cattle in the cattle shed screamed at times. They all huddled
together in the bed with their mother while father went out to check on the
cattle with a lantern that had a struggle keeping itself up and burning
against the wind.
They
came at that brutal dawn. The armed ferocious looking men they were. They
raided the village and got all the men out of their houses and away from
their families. They took the young ones with them to train to fight but did
not bother with the old ones like Jamila’s father. They lined them up in
their yards and shot them indiscriminately.
Jamila
and her siblings stood at the wooden doors open as they dragged their father
who could not say anything for the suddenness of the attack. They were
screaming and shivering at the same time. Mother followed their father
outside like a mad woman and held onto her husband hard as if she could win
by sheer will against those armed men dragging him as though he was a heavy
corpse. She continued begging: “For Allah’s sake, don’t kill him! I
beg you, spare his life! He is just an old man!”
The
armed men stood there with their guns pointed at Jamila’s father. Jamila
and her siblings stood there with horror in their eyes and shocked and
mortified they got their eyes fixed on their parents.
“Shoot
them!” said the tall ferocious looking man.
There
it was. Death coming out of their guns in sounds so sharp and brutal that
pierced their young ears. They began shooting at Jamila’s parents. By then
the dawn lights began to appear.
“Run
Jamila! Run! Run!” screamed her dying parents as they fell on their
blood-wet ground where they spent all their lives. Jamila and her siblings
started running like scared chickens that were chased by foxes. They started
shooting everywhere. Jamila could not remember how long she ran or how far!
She saw her little brothers and sisters getting shot at and they fell on the
ground like red wet birds. Jamila continued running. Still now she could not
forgive herself for that.
“How
could I not go back and help my brothers and sisters!” She kept asking and
scolding herself on her selfishness. That’s what she called her running
away and leaving her siblings bleeding to death. She might think that now,
on retrospect, however, at that time she had no sense of what she was
thinking or doing! She remembered running and not even seeing where she was
going. All she could think of was run away as far as she could go to get
away from those ferocious men with their guns that shot her whole family
down! She was terribly lucky that she did not get shot! They were shooting
at her. Loosing her whole family and surviving did not seem very much of
luck to her for a long time. Still now she could not feel lucky for the fact
that she was alive.
Shattered,
scarred, violated and hungry Jamila ran and ran until she reached a road
where she bumped onto a jeep that stopped seeing her.
Now
she could remember the sign. It must have been a Red Cross jeep. A white
lady who seemed like the most beautiful angel of a woman, all white with her
blonde hair blowing in the wind came out of her jeep. Jamila had never seen
a white woman or man for that matter in her life!
That’s
where she collapsed. She could not remember much as to what had happened
after that. That white lady got her to England at least that’s what she
could gather together.
A
week spent here and there when Jamila did not know what was happening to
her, she did not know what was being said or why was she being taken here
and there. In her mind she could not locate herself as to where she was. She
could not see in her mind the village where her mind was anchored. She
desperately tried to see her village, her house, the mosque and the
neighbours’ houses and the fields so that at least she could then feel
located. She could not do that. All was empty in her mind. A bleak blank
starred at her, which was the scariest part of that experience.
Jamila
then went to a foster home from where she was sent to the school where Mr
Bell got her at his office from Bill and took her to that squared room and
possibly asked her to sit and wait while he went to get help.
The
whole week before she come to stay with the foster family Jamila had felt
she was floating in a state of unreal space. She felt she could not go up
nor could she go down. The shooting, the screaming, the blood and the
mortified looks on the dying faces of her parents and siblings all got stuck
up everywhere like live posters on that space. She could not eat or drink
and could not seem to speak either. There were no black persons about. The
whole of her world seemed to have been wiped out of the world. The language
she and her people spoke was no longer spoken; the people she grew up with
and got used to seeing were not around as though all of them were taken out
of the world by a sudden wind. Everyone was talking in a language that she
had never heard before and, her ears at times played tricks with her, in
that, behind the sounds of the spoken English she could hear shadows of
Somali sounds and got raised hairs on her body, all excited, only to realise
that no one was speaking Somali at all.
She
could see that people were kind and talking to her kindly and using a lot of
hand and facial gestures. She did not understand anything at all. She began
to become more and more sick and worried.
Jamila
could not sleep at all. Even though she was hungry she could not eat
anything either. The bread, the butter, eggs, fish and chips, burgers and
the orange juice and the rest seemed impossible things to eat or drink. Most
importantly she was still thinking of the murder of her family. She was on
her own. The whole world seemed utterly a desolate barren land where she is
lost in a desert of unknown sands and storm and she had nowhere to go and
nobody to give her a hug or cuddle! She cried a lot at night when people
left her alone in a room to sleep. She would fall asleep but would wake up
after having the shooting scenes repeated. She would sweat and get all wet.
She would wake up and shiver and looked scared as though it was real, as
though she was still running to get away from the chasing guns ducking and
diving to avoid the hit of the bullets that were targeted at her.
After
moving to the foster home she was sent to the school. Everything was
explained to her but what’s the point of explaining everything when
everybody knew Jamila did not understand a word of English! Thinking about
that now Jamila could not help but smile.
She
was taken to the year seven class where she sat by a boy called Bill. All
the class was full of white children of her age. The teacher Miss Betterson
asked her a lot of questions but Jamila looked at her with big tearful eyes
and did not say a word. She was terrified in that classroom although she
felt that the teacher lady was kind in her tone. Everyone was looking at her
as though they were seeing a ghost.
“Are
you all right?” asked Bill, whispering. He was so kind in his look,
gestures and tone that Jamila broke into tears. Bill patted her shoulders
and said: “Don’t worry; everything is going to be all right.”
Jamila
remembered looking up at Bill and she felt her whole being was moving
inside. She, at that day, realised the power of care and humanity that
Bill’s voice reflected. That was when Miss Betterson asked Bill to take
Jamila to Mr Bell’s office. She said a lot of things to Bill, which
obviously Jamila did not understand.
Having
received Jamila from Bill Mr Bell took her to that room and asked her to do
a lot of things that went un-understood. Bill left her at the door and said
very softly: “Don’t worry; everything is going to be fine. I will be
back to see you soon.” He walked away leaving her the most astonishing
smile to reassure her.
Jamila
walked back to her bed and sat on it. She looked at the wall that had a
poster of All Ball Singers, five guys posing together and thought, “These
guys must have a wonderful life!”
She
looked at the widow again. The white net curtain was not moving. The
stillness took her back to the door overlooking the long school corridor.
The floor glistened in a comprehensive silence. Time stood silent like the
time before a thunder. Jamila sat there in that squared room in that semi
darkness. There were books, boxes, laminating machines, stationeries and a
lot of workbooks everywhere. There was an old computer sitting at a table
that looked about to collapse any minute because of the impossible amount of
books and papers put on it. The room had no other windows or ventilation.
She felt like she was put in a cage and waiting to be locked in.
Now,
looking back she smiled at her naivety. She sat there for quite a long time
yet she could have stood up and walked about in the room. She did not think
about anything at all. She was in a state of void. She did not know what was
going to happen to her. She was scared if anyone walked into the room and
started talking to her. What would she say? They might throw her out and she
could not say anything to them. She felt so alone and so helpless! Closing
her eyes she pretended that she was at her home and sitting on the bed by
her mother and, looking at Jamila she realised that she was scared, took her
in her arms and gave her a huge hug! She cried having her eyes closed.
Suddenly,
she got disturbed by the voice of Mr Bell, who apparently turned up with a
colleague of his, who was an Asian man in his thirties. That’s the first
non-white person Jamila had seen in England. Mr Bell talked to the Asian man
whose name was Kamal and left Jamila to him. They only knew what they had
talked about.
Jamila
looked at Kamal who was a medium built man and looked younger than his real
age. He appeared very kind and his eyes sparkled with a smile that made one
smile in return. Jamila liked Kamal. He smiled at her and she returned the
smile.
Kamal
got a chair and brought it near Jamila and sat. He looked around the room,
which became much brighter to Jamila. She now had a look around again.
Everything looked different now.
Kamal
began to speak in English, “Hi Jamila! My name--- and he did not finish
his sentence realising that Jamila did not understand English. Jamila could
see the changed expression on his face that showed he was quite angry on Mr
Bell.
On
retrospect Jamila could understand now, why Kamal was annoyed at Mr Bell or
at the school. He was an Asian gentleman and spoke an Asian language and
definitely did not speak Somali. The school knew it yet Mr Bell got him to
talk to Jamila, assuming anyone speaking other languages in addition to
English would be able to speak the whole world languages and decided to send
them to help her! How could he help Jamila! He could only talk to her in
English! At that situation, Jamila remembered, she could not help but smile.
But
Jamila would never forget Kamal. He was able to make her feel safe. She felt
much better just seeing him. He did not finish his sentence that he had
started in English. He used his hands and eyes and some words that helped
Jamila understand what he was saying.
He
pointed at himself with his pointer and looked at Jamila and said:
“Kamal” and changed his eyes into questions and pointed his pointer at
Jamila and stared at her. Jamila’s face broadened and a smile appeared on
her face that reflected itself on Kamal’s face.
“Jamila!”
Jamila said.
“Jamila!
A beautiful name!” he said and then added very slowly, “my name,” he
pointed himself, “is Kamal.” And then asked Jamila with his hand
gestures to copy him. Jamila was getting quite comfortable and was
astonished that she could actually say: “My name is Jamila!”
“Wonderful!
Well done Jamila!” he said.
Jamila
felt so much better after saying that. She stood up and said again: “My
name is Jamila!”
“Yes,
your name is Jamila!” Kamal said.
He
then walked to the table and looked for something and from the heap of books
he got one out and came back to Jamila. It was a book about Somalia. He
showed the book to Jamila and managed to ask her with his gesture whether
she was from Somalia. The book had a map of Somalia, which Jamila had seen,
at their village mosque.
Jamila
smiled and nodded.
“Yes?”
he said, “from Somalia?”
“Yes,
Jamila said slowly, from Somalia.”
For
that short period of time Jamila forgot about where she was and what had
happened to her and her family or even in the school.
Kamal
communicated with Jamila that he did not speak her language, that he had a
colleague who spoke Somali and that he worked at another school, that he
would be able to get him to talk to her probably in a day or two. Kamal used
his eyes, his body language, his gestures, he used books and he drew things
so that she could understand.
On
retrospect, Jamila sitting on her bed, remembered Kamal and the time he had
spent with her in that semi dark room. She felt so close to him. Bill was
the first person in England who Jamila liked and would remember all her life
and Kamal would be the second person that she would never forget.
She
settled down at the school. She was adopted by her foster family and she
learnt English and spoke it like any English girls. Bill and her became very
good friends. With her adopted family she found a life that was going well.
But the phrase on retrospect or hindsight got her to the things and times
she wanted to forget. She tried to see the faces of her mother, father and
her little brothers and sisters. But they were getting all blurry and
distant. She closed her eyes and prayed for her family.
In
her mind she could hear Bill saying: “Don’t worry. Everything is going
to be all right.”
She
looked up and smiled because she thought of Kamal and could still see his
eyes smiling. She could hear him say: “Jamila! A beautiful name!”
Annette
walked into the room with a cup of hot chocolate.
“Thanks
Annette!” Jamila said with a happy smile as she took the cup. Annette sat
beside her on the bed.
“Can
I have a hug?” Jamila looked at Annette. Her eyes resembled a child’s.
Annette took her on an embrace. Jamila closed her eyes.
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