Their baba’s love. 

For his daughters…


Smothering and loud,

Forced but never rejected, 

“She can have whatever she wants,

Because she’s  my daughter“,

Baba injected.

Chocolate at bedtime,

Juice when Mama’s not looking, 

Mumma said “Its time to sleep!”,

But out they go to the fireworks, 

“Because she’s my daughter”

Baba reminded. 

Tears dwelling in a grown man’s eyes,

Cultural roots of masculinity come nothing in close to her innocent gaze.

‘Because she’s my daughter’,

Baba reflected. 

One become two,

Baba was there.

A real king to a queen is he who holds back her hair and cries with her pain as she gives him what’s so beautifully his.

“Don’t drop her”, he ordered them. 

“Because she’s my daughter”,

He declared. 

Obsession and caution,

Nothing less than beautiful words,

His words, of the Most High for my girls.

“Because they’re my daughters”,

He protected. 

A life to be lived without Baba’s ‘too much to handle but never enough’ kind of love.

No sweet words to charm the mess when Mumma is chaos.

The void of logic and patience that sometimes wears from Mumma’s sleepy lack of a clarity.

“No more clothes and cleaning. Kick back with me.”, Mumma needed Baba’s love too.

How can Mumma ever be Baba?

Mumma tried.

Mumma can’t ever be Baba.

An unattainable standard for an incomparable Baba.

Soft little hands on a wet face of muffled cries,

Then a little mouth kissing Mumma’s sore eyes.

How can little hearts contain such big love?

Because they’re filled with their baba’s love.

O mankind, fear your Lord and fear a Day when no father will avail his son, nor will a son avail his father at all. Indeed, the promise of Allah is truth, so let not the worldly life delude you and be not deceived about Allah by the Deceiver (shaytan).

 Quran 31:33

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