Birthing of a Muslim

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Bushra fears the divisive and communal her would inherit in this poem, for .

In a world torn asunder
With hate, prejudice, and conflict
I gasp as I to
As vicious of toxicity
Threaten to pollute
The air of normalcy

My mist as I look at my babe
My newborn grandson, barely a month old
I run my hand over his head
Not quite rounded properly
Birthing stress, they had said
I gingerly the skin pulsing at the top
Wait a while, they had said
All will be fine.

But I worry, not for those reasons
I worry, ‘coz in this communally entrenched country
My grandson is born a Muslim
One day, he too will wear a cap
A skullcap
White
Crocheted
I freeze…

©Bushra Alvi Razzack

Photos by the poet

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Bushra Alvi Razzack, the Founder of Delhi by Verse, loves weaving words, emotions and opinions while creating rhythm and imagery to make sense of a situation. Apart from being therapeutic, writing poems is her way of storing memories and recording events. Her articles on culture and society have been widely published. She also translates short stories from Urdu and Hindi into English. An enthusiastic photographer, Bushra loves to look at the world through her lens.