Fatima Tuj Zohra

The newborn sister – a divine source of joy,
Yet the man asks, “Still not a boy?”.
Fourth-time parents are left distraught
In front of a cruel firing squad, they seem caught.
A happy family – the malicious question will slowly destroy.

“Hey, why your girl always stay out so late at night?”,
“Hey, when you show her the path to the Light?”.
Tell me, Mother, will conforming make me your Dove?
Tell me, Mother, will I then feel worthy of your love?
Or will I grow up only to never feel right?

Nag about this skin, this dark, black skin,
This skin that has been blessed by the kin!
Absorbing all hate, it’s become so dark,
No comments are now the least bit stark!
The memories, this skin – all mine, however, through thick or thin.