Wednesday, 20 May 2015


Bestowed upon her, on the day of her birth,

In all of nature´s colours, of sky, leaf & earth,

Spun in tattered silk, of spider´s old homes,

Stitched with blessing, of A´llah´s gold domes.


It was where, as a child, she learned to pray,

Where, to her God, all her secrets she´d say,

Asking for a good man & the babies to come,

It was her mat of refuge, beneath ebbing sun.


She & her prayer mat, both fading with age,

Book of prayers & stories, upon every page,

Of kind wishes granted & old sins dissolved,

Her mat of prayer, where her life was solved.


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