my father misses being
my mothers second favorite man.
i miss your hearty laughter,
i miss watching you
hold soft babies in strong arms.
i remember the way
you taught me to ride through
forested paths and open road,
how you smiled at me,
loving how different than you
i was. and will always be.
i remember, when you left,
it all became fragile and i felt it crumble-
but it wasn’t real.
the heavy anchor of
your soul held steadfast
despite thick, crashing waves.
you were a lone flower
blooming in fields of infertile anarchy.
you were a glorious sight,
a sigh of relief,
a colorful ray of hope,
shining despite the engulfing darkness.
you did not just attract miracles,
you created them,
from droplets of blood
and single grains of sand.
you pierced away at your own flesh,
to nurture your kin.
nani misses your warm voice.
the tangible love of the 1960s,
two joys that came, three joys that went,
the force field you encompassed her with,
like a burqa in kashmiri streets,
reeking of gunpowder in high valleys.
you let me climb your back during sajda,
held me through stormy days and nights,
you held our home together,
like the blue and green embroidery
of the peacock tapestry on our wall,
or the harmony of bismillahi-rahmani-raheem.