Loss comes in many forms: a son in the ground, a toy in pieces, a life nearly spent - but hope whispers the same message to each broken heart.
A tender, empathetic poem that addresses three figures experiencing profound sorrow: an elderly mother grieving her son, a young boy mourning a broken toy, and an old man facing mortality. Through a recurring refrain that acknowledges “your darkest hour,” this consoling verse offers a gentle perspective on different scales of loss - from childhood disappointments to the finality of death.
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It is your time, my friend, it is your darkest hour,
it is seemingly the end, joys and sorrows at par
All seems lost, and all seems dour,
all appears grey, and smiles are all sour
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You sitting by that grave, yes, you, the old hag,
appearing to be brave, holding onto your old bag
Why do you sob and why do you weep?
Was it your son, whom you loved so deep?
Please, do not cry, wipe off all these tears,
he is not gone, pray hush all your fears
Look into your heart, you will find him there,
he is but a memory away, with a face so fair
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It is your time, my friend, it is your darkest hour,
it is seemingly the end, joys and sorrows at par
All seems lost, and all seems dour;
all appears grey, and smiles are all sour
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You holding a broken toy, yes, you, the poor boy,
crying your heart out, you have lost all joy
Why do you sob and why do you weep?
Was it your treasure, you intended to keep?
Please, do not cry, do not be cross,
it is, but the first step on the stairway to loss
More toys will come, each precious and dear,
more toys will come with each new year
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It is your time, my friend, it is your darkest hour,
it is seemingly the end, joys and sorrows at par
All seems lost, and all seems dour,
all appears grey, and smiles are all sour
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You, lost in your reverie, yes, you, the old man,
all sick and tired, separated from your clan
Why are you sad, and why are you so glum?
Do you feel bad about what you have become?
Please, do not be sad, do not detest yourself,
it is, but our destiny, life always solves itself
Your days were a chapter in the grand book of life,
your soul was a traveler on the path to the afterlife
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It is your time, my friend, it is your darkest hour,
it is seemingly the end, joys and sorrows at par
All seems lost, and all seems dour;
Shehryar khawar 