“Maryam, My Drama Queen Forever” (Sequel Poem to ‘From Silence to “Yes, I Do”’)
Introduction : “Maryam, My Drama Queen Forever” is a playful and heartfelt continuation of the journey first told in “From Silence to ‘Yes, I Do’.” Picking up where the previous poem left off, this sequel captures the early weeks of marriage—filled with laughter, playful drama and emotional highs and lows, everyday moments that define love in a newlywed home. Through the ups and downs of Maryam’s charming tantrums and Shahzad’s devoted attempts to win her smile, the poem celebrates the humor, tenderness, and sweetness of love marriages in Pakistani culture.
Recommendation Note : This poem is the sequel to “From Silence to ‘Yes, I Do’” and continues the story of Maryam and Shahzad. To fully enjoy the emotional depth and humor of their journey, I strongly recommend reading the first poem before diving into this one.
“Maryam, My Drama Queen Forever”
(Sequel Poem to ‘From Silence to “Yes, I Do”’)
The first weeks of marriage were golden and new,
with laughter and tea, skies painted blue.
Selfies and dinners, our hearts full of song,
yet soon her sweet dramas began to sing along.
I promised one evening, “By six I’ll be home,
we’ll go out for dinner, then quietly roam.”
Maryam prepared, her red dress in flame,
perfume in the air, awaiting my name.
The clock struck six—still no Shahzad in sight,
then at 6:05 I arrived, her anger took the flight.
Arms folded tight, with a furious tone,
“Six means six—not later! You’re never on your own.”
“You fail at your promises, nothing feels right,
you said dinner and drive—but you ruined my night!”
I tried to explain, “My Mary, the traffic—”
She cut me off sharply, her fury terrific.
“Don’t give me your traffic stories again,
it feels like my presence brings you no gain!”
I pulled out the flowers, my last-minute scheme,
“My queen, let your anger fade into a dream.”
“Dinner will happen, the drive will be long,
but only your smile can make the night strong.”
She tried to act angry, but her smile broke through,
“You’re only good at making me laugh when I’m untrue.”
So dinner we shared, laughter taking the lead,
then onto the roads where night trees would bleed.
She leaned on the window, the wind through her hair,
I sang like a fool—she laughed at my flair.
“Enough, my love, let me dream as we ride,”
or else I’ll be angry again,” she replied.
Yet joy filled her heart as she whispered in glee,
Her heart knew well that I could set it free.
Then came her birthday, the drama anew,
Maryam kept waiting: “What will he do?”
No flowers, no wishes, no message, no cheer,
her eyes filled with tears—“He forgot me this year!”
At night she exploded, her voice sharp and sore,
“You forgot my birthday! I want you no more.
Go away now—I don’t want to speak!”
She stormed to her room, her anger unique.
But light filled her eyes when she opened the door,
balloons, red velvet cake, flowers in the room.
A whisper behind her, my voice low and near:
“Surprise, my Mary, I’m always here.”
Her tears turned to laughter, she hugged me so tight,
“You’ve won me again, you’re romantic tonight.”
Then drama returned with her playful demand,
“Now give me my gift, place it in my hand!”
I teased her with mischief, “No gift in my hand,”
her smile disappeared, like footprints in sand.
“Then go away! I won’t talk at all!”
I laughed, “Could I forget my queen’s call?”
Her eyes lit with wonder, her anger dismissed,
“Happy birthday, my love, my jewel divine,
forever my Mary, forever mine,
A spark of our laughter, forever will shine.”
“Tonight you have treated me just like a queen,”
she whispered with joy, her smile serene.
I answered with warmth, my truth shining through,
“Maryam, my queen—forever that’s you.”
Playful she was, with her tantrums so sweet,
“I’m not cooking today!” she’d say in defeat.
Then I’d say, “I’ll cook instead, but only on one plea,
you taste it with laughter, and sit close to me.”
“I’m angry with you!” she would suddenly claim,
I’d answer, “Then songs will soften the flame.”
So silly, so restless, I’d sing without end,
till Maryam was laughing, her anger would bend.
Years drifted by, yet her fire stayed the same,
and I stayed her heartbeat, through sunshine and rain.
“Marriage is sweet pain—of duties, of tears,
but without you, Mary, I’d vanish in years.”
Her eyes shimmered softly, she whispered anew,
“And if tomorrow I turn cold on you?
If I grow angry and push you away?”
I smiled, “Then I’ll win you again like everyday.”
“With flowers, with songs, with laughter’s embrace,
with patience that time will never erase.
For Maryam, my queen, you’ll always remain,
my drama, my joy, my love’s sweetest pain.”
—Shahzad Sulaiman
Author’s Note (Summary) :
The first weeks of our marriage felt like a golden dream, filled with laughter, new clothes, selfies, and endless tea together. But soon, Maryam’s drama queen side began to emerge. One evening, I had promised, “Mary, I’ll be home by six, and then I’ll take you out for dinner and a long drive.” Maryam had prepared herself fully—red dress, light makeup, perfume in the air—and she waited patiently, like a heroine expecting her hero.
The clock struck six, yet there was no Shahzad. Then at 6:05, I arrived, and her anger immediately took flight. She stood in the lounge, arms crossed, face red, and said sharply, “When you said six, you meant six! Not 6:05! Nothing you do ever seems right, and you promised to take me for dinner and a long drive!” I smiled, trying to calm her, “My Mary, it was traffic—” but she interrupted, “Don’t tell me traffic stories! I feel like you don’t care about me at all.”
I pulled out a small bouquet that i was hiding behind my back, holding it out like a hero, and said, “My queen, calm your anger a little. There will be dinner, a long drive, and flowers too. I just want to bring back your smile.” Maryam tried to stay angry, but her lips curved into a smile as she teased, “You only know how to win me over.”
We went for dinner, and then drove through the quiet Islamabad streets at night. Maryam leaned on the window, enjoying the cool breeze, while I sang loudly in the car. She laughed and said, “Stop it! Let me enjoy the drive, or I’ll get angry again.” But inside, she was happy—her Shahzad knew exactly how to win her heart.
The biggest drama came on Maryam’s birthday. All morning, she had been thinking, “Today is my birthday; let’s see what Shahzad will do.” Yet all day, I didn’t say a word—no flowers, no cake, no messages. Her eyes filled with tears, and by night, she snapped, “Enough! You didn’t even remember my birthday! I won’t talk to you. Go away!” She stormed to her room and switched on the lights… and froze.
The room was filled with balloons, red velvet cake, and flowers. I whispered softly behind her, “Surprise…” Maryam turned, her tears mixing with a smile, and said, “You’ve won my heart.” I lit the candles, and we cut the cake together. She hugged me tightly, adding, “You’ve become so romantic lately.” True to her drama queen nature, she added, “Now give me my gift!” I grinned mischievously, “Gift? I didn’t bring anything.” Her face fell, “Then go away! I won’t talk to you.” I laughed, “Could I ever forget the queen of my heart?” and then pulled out a small box from my coat pocket, slipping a gold bracelet onto her wrist. “Happy Birthday, my love. Are you happy now?” Her eyes sparkled. “Today you are treating me like a queen,” she said, and I smiled, “Mary… you are my queen, always.”
Our relationship was always playful. Sometimes Maryam would pout, “I’m not cooking today.” Then I would say, “I’ll cook instead, but only on one condition—you taste it with laughter, and sit close to me.” Sometimes she would declare dramatically, “I’m angry with you!” I’d answer, “Then I’ll sing for you.” And I’d sing at the top of my voice, silly and full of energy. Maryam would try to stay annoyed, but she would always burst into laughter, her anger dissolving instantly.
Years passed, yet her fire remained the same, and I remained her calm heartbeat. One evening, I held her hand and said, “Mary, I used to think marriage would be easy, but you’ve shown me there is sweet pain in it—anger, disagreements, responsibilities—but without you, I am incomplete.” Maryam, tears in her eyes, softly asked, “And if I get upset again tomorrow?” I laughed, kissed her hand, and replied, “Then I’ll bring flowers, sing songs, and you will smile. Because you are my queen—always.”
Disclaimer:
This poem is inspired by real-life experiences and written from one heart to another. It is meant to capture the humor, emotions, and journey of love marriages in Pakistani culture. It is not intended to target, offend, or misrepresent any individual, and should not be used inappropriately. This is a heartfelt story shared in the spirit of love, laughter, and culture.
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