by Jamshyd Osman


From a tiny clot she coagulates

Butterflies her conception generates

Instant thoughts of tiny feet & legs forming

Not a sign not even a warning



As an abstract thought she exists

Keeps us warm in these nights of drizzles & mists



With hope & glee we pen our lists

Praying that nine months pass devoid of any twists

Spawned in the heavens

Spawned off love

A gift of life from above

From decaying hearts sprigs buds of hope

Rejuvenating those who dwell without scope



We knit for her aspirations

Envision her treating patients

Making me tea, looking after me

Being my eyes when I can’t see



We supplicate for a righteous slave

Bowed head, in adversity brave

An advocate of the Truth

A sharp tongue against the brute



She will stand like an Oak among the palms

Just her eyes would flock lads in swarms

Even beasts submit to her charms

Anxious to cradle her in its arms



Her destiny by now prescribed

From her first words to being a bride

A miracle transformation inside

From her Maker’s workshop to our side

In her mother’s womb dwells my pride