Somewhere, you spoke of us,
The children of the future.
You wondered what she would be, your something great granddaughter.
Somewhere, you imagined loss – of the roots you so firmly planted,
you begged for us to reconnect, and I hope that your du’a is granted.
I’m sorry that I lost you, I owe you an apology.
I’m sorry that my hate for people became my hate for you.
You did so much for me,
Made me who I am today.
Now you’re sick,
and all I can do is sit here and pray
A word which so loosely translates to freedom, but means so much more.
Azad like the children playing carefree until sundown,
Azad like the force of a hurricane,
With the might and blessings of Allah.
Azad with no psychological borders.
Azad with the echoes of saif ul-malook narrating your journey from now.
Somewhere, you prayed for me.
It’s my turn now,
To pray for you,
And for all there is to come.