I pray for my daughter

By Nifa Loysha

I pray she’ll be proud when I grow grey and when I’m embraced by old age.
I pray she feels at peace and free of fear when death carries me away.
I pray that nature binds us even though we’ve been raised with divisive norms.
I pray for calmness when rancor deepens our days,
and I pray for empathy to rain down, flooding us in seas of kindness.

I pray we’ll sit together in strength, unstirred by threats and fear,
and I pray that the tongues that bleed bitter words will chat restfully.
I pray that the children born out of war grow up in peace and that their children foster it for the next generations to come.
I pray for my beautiful daughter, for she is the Rose of a world I have not yet lived in.
Look at my Rose, her beautifully slanted eyes twinkling in earnest as if the world finds light in her as if all darkness disappears with a blink of her eyes.
I feel her rising high in my heart, filling me with adorning aromas. Life is all hers, and hers only.
Look at her nose, how it sits in perfect harmony, drawing oxygen for her to live, for us to live, for the world is hers.
When she walks away, my heart breaks into pieces because she removes my love from all that lives. She dissolves in air, my perfect aroma.
I love to sit with her, and I hold her dear, just for myself. Her hands are soft, the smoothness of her skin akin to the most beautiful Rose.

Her heartbeat is a drum beating, dividing the day from night, her neck pulses with a tune that begs us to dance.
Her waist sways as she lifts herself to walk, for the world spins around her.
Her lips are tinny brown, succulent, and curvy. Her hair is brown and waving.
I pray for my daughter.
I pray for all of us, I pray for the World.

10 February, 2023