Daughters of Divinity

Author: Sara A. Farooqi

Sara A. Farooqi is a poet, facilitator, mama, and founder of Interdependence Lab where she supports social impact change-makers in designing just and joyful systems and organizational cultures.

Daughters of Divinity
For Tameka

I saw my name for God
Significance + Nothingness
Allah, AL-Lah
split in two.

Lovers carried LAH east, to the south,
of Asia
kin of Hafiz, Rabia, Rumi,
Chishti, Mirabai
holding Lah in the quiet hum of mosques,
in the still of meditation,
in the space between prayer beads.

Lovers carried AL to the western coast
of Africa
Al unfolding in exuberant praise,
boisterous love overflowing with no end.
Transcendence illuminated in the bass.

Steal a people but
you cannot steal their Home.
The One to whom all praise belongs.
Source. Origin. Keeper.
Kin of Malcolm, Martin, Stacey, Maya, Audre
holding AL in the hype,
in the hip-hop,
in the cadence, the honey, the song.

Now sitting
on a continent beyond the borders of our
ancestors’ imagination
trading jokes,
refreshment,
and all the real, real sugar of our existence.

Knowing
our ancestors
knew of each other. Were folded into each other.

Sweet friend,
Our conversation began with their voices.

We have embraced before
in that time before freedom.
Our bond watched the sunrise
before “resistance” had a name.

I sink into gratitude
for your generous existence—
and all that brought you into existence.

When we are together,
all I feel is God.

I came to associate Jesus with your father,
loved them both through you.
Healing the daggers of crusaders
with your voice
praying for me
in the name of your Lord and Savior.
Amen. Ameen.

Two women, held in God.
Spinning between
significance and insignificance,
divinity and humanity,
longing and contentment.

Feeling a harmony that only exists because we sing different notes.
Stepping into our wholeness, our Holiness.

Expanding. Contracting. Pushing.
Pushing. Pushing.

All praise is His.

My sister,
we’ll grow old and plump
on the sweet sound
of each other’s laughter.

I will walk with you
a prayer in congregation
keeping devils from our sacred dreams,
holding the memory of before freedom,
bellies full with the dream of after freedom,
planting questions
our children’s children will answer.
(Our beautiful biracial babies.
Our angel. Our glory.)

All while knowing:
I can only claim
the pain of witnessing your pain,
the beauty of witnessing your beauty.

When we are together,
All I feel is God.