For ASIFA

    Tears pour down my face,

     I can’t bring myself to write 

                                           a word.

     I can’t even read about it

     Or bear to look at the pictures,

     At the innocent eyes,

     The beauteous little face.

      I see her playing hopscotch,

      Running to hide, as friends 

                                            search.

       She loves to ride a horse, and

                               loves her lambs.

       At school, which subject did 

                                     she shine in?

       Ah! I see she loves stories, 

                          and adores rhymes.

       I see her as the longed-for 

                                         daughter,

       The daughter I never had.

        At day’s end, she runs up 

                                   the stairs

        Shouting Mama, throwing her 

                          heavy satchel down, 

         I pour her a glass of milk, and    

                 cut her a slice of the cake 

         I baked for her today.

Anna Sujatha Mathai