Dearest Grandma,
Did you weave this with your aged hands,
Hoping to see me wed a man,
Before you left behind your land?
Did you wonder who I'd grow to be,
When you held the childhood picture of me,
As you sipped your frothy, sweetened tea?
Did you weep when you fell ill and knew,
That you would never make it to,
The day when I could visit you?
Last summer, my first in Africa,
At your grave, I stood by dear mama,
And marveled at her stamina.
Separated for countless days and years,
But still she held back all those tears,
To soothe my sorrow and quell my fears.
I'm grateful for such strong women,
Who inspire me to lift my pen,
To write the things I learned from them.
Hoping to see me wed a man,
Before you left behind your land?
Did you wonder who I'd grow to be,
When you held the childhood picture of me,
As you sipped your frothy, sweetened tea?
Did you weep when you fell ill and knew,
That you would never make it to,
The day when I could visit you?
Last summer, my first in Africa,
At your grave, I stood by dear mama,
And marveled at her stamina.
Separated for countless days and years,
But still she held back all those tears,
To soothe my sorrow and quell my fears.
I'm grateful for such strong women,
Who inspire me to lift my pen,
To write the things I learned from them.
Fatima Andad
Copyright © 2014
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