By Sidra Farhang
for my Baktash
I see him and wonder
If we were born from the same breath of God.
If our souls were entwined
Woven from the same holy thread.
I felt his heartbeat
And the universe’s pulse
The sound of heaven
Cradled within his chest.
In that rhythm,
the Milky Way flows,
the stars collapse,
and eternity slows.
And in that stillness,
time does not exist,
and I can almost remember
the creation of Baktash.
Every colourful mud that blended his skin,
every speck of dust that formed his bone,
every curve of clay that moulded his form,
and every breath God wove into his soul.
I remember it all,
Not with my mind
But with a part of me
Belonging to him.
But then God paused,
searching His creation
from head to toe,
to notice something missing
something foretold,
And with a gentle hand
He tugged at one rib
And shaped it and bent it
In one loving form
And if I placed my hand near his heart,
Then would I not feel
The missing rib
From which I was born?
