Poem for Banzai
I loved you in the quiet way
a soul learns to love light —
not loud, not sudden,
but slowly,
like dawn unfolds over the ruins of a night.
You laughed like a girl who had just been told
the world was safe for a moment.
And I watched your eyes roll in delight
like you were trying to unlearn fear
and teach your heart to dance.
I saw the child in you,
beaten down by the weight of legacy and name,
and I swore to build a home around her —
not with walls,
but with warmth.
I was ready to wait.
To fly,
to leave,
to fight.
I would have crossed every border your father ever built
just to hold your hand in sunlight.
But love,
they caged you again.
They told you to forget
the sound of your own joy.
And you obeyed —
not because you stopped loving me,
but because you stopped being allowed
to love yourself.
Still, I do not curse you.
I do not call you weak.
I call you wounded,
and I call me the one who wept for your wounds
more than for my own heart.
You were the laugh in my silence,
the warmth in my winter,
the softness I thought I would never know.
If you’re gone,
then go knowing this:
You were loved.
By a man who would’ve given you freedom before flowers,
dignity before desire,
truth before comfort.
And when you laugh again —
even if not beside me —
may the child in you remember
how it felt
to be completely seen.
Ya Allah, protect her joy.
I loved her like prayer.
And I let her go the same way.
- Adib
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