With her mother’s eyes
And her father’s cries
Her mother’s strength
and her father’s sighs.
When she plays in her garden does she see my world or hers?
Does she see the pain of war or bomb shells?
Does she smell the teargas of an evil regime?
Does she hear the bark of a vicious dog?
Or she sees beyond the fog;
The sound of yapping of a cute puppy.
The only anger she feels is humor from Angry Birds
Only pain she feels is goodbyes when I leave for work.
Full of chuckles, no judgements its all love all around
She smiles and melts away the bad sounds.
Her garden is full of imaginary creatures or maybe thats her reality
My garden is full of weeds or maybe thats my reality.
I pray she grows up to have the beauty of Danai and the genius of Beyonce
The genius of Maya Angelou with the resilience of Fantasia
The goddess of Serena and creativity of Venus
The prophecy of Nehanda and the queendom of MANDIPA
My daughter, my seed. A better version of me
