You had your fathers eyes
And now, six years down the line
My heart still clenches that extra bit more
When I watch him sleep.
I’ve watched you grow
Through other children your age
And I’ve pined the first night of every single Ramadhaan to hold you once more.
Ten months pregnant and nobody listened when I said you were ready to be born
And it was three days of beautifully excrutiating pain and a few minutes before they cut you out
When I felt you die.
You didn’t cry and the doctor ran out with you in his arms
And back home they were told to prepare for a janazah salaah after taraweeh.
The nurse said we all worship in our own ways.
I only cried six weeks later when the milk you were supposed to be drinking wouldn’t stop flowing.
I miss you still, Mohammed Mikaeel.
