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.
No comments:
Post a Comment