Born From Blessing Poem by Yousif Ibrahim Abubaker Abdalla

A little lantern wrapped in the dawn's embrace, a small moon nestled beside the ribs of night isn't it fascinating that a soul no larger than my hands can stir mountains within a grown man?
You came to us like rain returning to a desert's memory, like a long-lost prayer
suddenly finding its voice once more.
And I softly whisper:
Grow gently, little cedar.
Grow gently, little cedar.
Grow gently, little cedar.
Because sometimes the world shows up dressed as spring
while secretly hiding winter beneath its coat.
Your fingers five unfinished verses curled around mine
like a sailor clinging to the edge of shore after weathering a storm.
And just like that, time no longer felt so heavy.
Before you arrived, this house was just walls and clocks.
Now every corner breathes light, and even silence leans tenderly over your cradle.
You are not just a child.
You are a tiny compass
leading weary hearts back toward mercy.
The irony is both gentle and beautiful: I thought I would be the one to teach you how to live, yet your first cry already showed me how to be human again.
Sleep now, little star hidden beneath skin and breath, little river disguised as a heartbeat, little seed holding entire forests within its sleeping chest.
May sorrow pass you by
like a storm that forgets the window.
May joy follow you faithfully
like birds tracing the language of morning.
And if darkness ever knocks at your door, remember this: your name was born from blessing, and blessing was never meant to bow easily before the night.