I love you too
The words reach his ears as I’m already up the stairs
Out of his reach
But never out of his mind
3 years of unanswered love
3 years of loving her anyway
3 years of watching your baby girl drift away
Until tonight
By noon the next day you’re in another state
Thinking about last night
3 years but now you have your daughter back
But in another state she is pulled from class
By noon she finally asked for help
3 years of unanswered prayers
3 years of unwanted hands
3 years of staying silent
Until tonight
By dawn the police will come
Asking for her report
But she’ll be thinking about last night
3 years and now his daughter will never be back
It took 3 years of staying silent
3 years of being his perfect quiet daughter
Now when she counts the years it will start from when she could breath again
While he can count the years since he was caught
NOBEL PEACE PRIZE DAY
NOT TRUMP, BUT CARNEY THEY SAY
TRUMP IS BLOWN AWAY
You find comfort in the darkness left in my wake
As the moonlight soothes your weary soul
Not too much just a gentle touch
A reminder you’re never alone
Something you could never find in me
My touch burning and unforgiving
Always too much
But that softness you always fall to once I’m gone isn’t what you think
It’s not some knight in shining armor
It’s me
A far away version where I can’t cause you harm
When my love won’t be too much
So you can sing your heart to me under a false name
And scream your curses at me by day
But I will be there to hold you under my sisters name
flannel is cozy, soft, warm, and comforting
I have worn it all my life, because I am an Iowan,
a daughter of two farm kids who also wear flannel
My favorite flannel shirt was my daddy’s
it is red with green, gold, blue and slivers of gray
In my closet, but there if I need it
This shirt smells like my Daddy
He has been gone twelve years
there is nothing more comforting than a whiff of this flannel shirt
I say “Hi Daddy” every single time
I’m at the end of long trip, my daughter,
For, mine is a tired old ship, my daughter.
May God give you power to bear, my daughter,
And for that doom’s day equip, my daughter.
I’d dreamt, I’d play with my kid all the time,
But now my energies dip, my daughter.
It’s time, you get used to world without me
As I begin to lose grip, my daughter.
As I prepare to leave, remember this:
Let my thoughts sink with life’s ship, my daughter.
______________________________
Ghazal | 26.09.2026| daughter, father, life, missing you
In daughter a river seen I had,
Wee bit homeward tried to wean I had.
It’s so hard to say goodbye to her,
With clenched fist, home lush green seen I had.
Her life sea-bound imagined I had,
A live stream beneath sun seen I had.
The banks looking bare, she coursing far,
Home, not so love-less lean, seen I had.
Eyes homeward, life marine seen I had,
Her journey riverine seen I had.
Heart anchored to the birth-bound old shore,
The rest turning saline seen I had.
____________________________
Musings | 27.09.2026| daughter, goodbye, home, river, Quatrain
Based on a Muktak (as under) in Gujarati by Darshak Aacharya: Along with two stanzas added in anapaest meter.
Dikree mañ meiñ nadee bhali hatee,
Aitle to ghar taraf vali hatee.
Dekree ne kem karavuñ avajo?
Dost, muthee aitale vali hatee.
I am a daughter.
I am a wife.
I am a mother.
Yes, I am a woman—
the creator of life,
the one who gives birth to an entire generation.
But beyond these relationships,
do I have an identity of my own?
As a daughter, I am expected to sacrifice.
As a wife, I am expected to compromise.
As a mother, I am expected to give endlessly.
Everyone sees the relationships I carry,
but who sees the woman behind those relationships?
Why must my identity always begin with
“someone’s daughter,”
“someone’s wife,”
or “someone’s mother”?
I was not born merely to fulfil roles.
I was born to live, to dream, to choose,
and to create an identity of my own.
It is time for women to step beyond the boundaries
that society has created for them.
Let us recognise our own worth,
raise our voices,
follow our dreams,
and build our own identity.
I am a woman.
I am not someone’s shadow.
I am an identity in my own right.
And now, it is time for every woman to say:
“Know me not only by the relationships I carry,
but by the person I am.”
The dogs are crying hard in their way
The morning turns to mourning
The hate may go up and down
But yet wont up to pick the call
Seeing your effort
To get back the oxytocin
What about me ?
Who’s never understood
Never get to know
Still they might think
Wht about the good things
Can i breathe carbon dioxide
And exhale oxygen forever ?
But still thankful
Didn’t hesitate to make me sit home
Get me all i want to make me stay there
Still greatful
Not everyone in this world
Get to be this lucky
I meant in terms of me
She notes how the days
have grown shorter.
A cacophony of grackles
near a cornfield fills the air.
A farmer across the road
walks along his field
checking his corn before harvest.
Leaves rustling
in the wind sing.
The construction crew
has passed her driveway.
She asks the flagger to
help her daughter across.
The school bus arrives
late afternoon. Lights flash
She rushes onto the porch
and hugs her daughter
who wears a backpack.
The mother notices
the sky is gold
as she looks out the window
and cooks supper on the stove.
Her daughter sits in a chair
hands folded on her lap.
So good to see her daughter
she thinks after letting go
in the morning and waiting
for a late afternoon embrace.
He Was a Child Once, Too
He was a child once, too—
before the dusk outgrew the dawn,
before his little hands knew
how much a heart could carry on.
A face once lived beyond his sight,
then slipped away from memory’s light;
and childhood, like a fading tune,
grew quiet beneath a borrowed moon.
He became a roof in someone’s rain,
a little warmth against their pain;
he gave his flame so others could see,
while darkness kept a place for him silently.
He wore the years like a borrowed coat,
kept every storm inside his throat;
and though the world saw strength in him,
I know the child still lives within.
To me, that man is not merely strong—
he is the real hero of my life.
I love you, Abu.
— Zehreen
My father was my Idol, Philosopher and Guide.
But he was a dominant person always to Control -
I had regular fight with him on inevitable Clash !
Imprisoned in childhood owing to daily Clash
Tired on conflict ! Developed personality yer he was Guide.
No way, I revolted to escape from his over -all Control !
I had to choose my own way getting rid of his Control
I had to struggle but I was just fed up on continued Clash.
Yet alll along I paid due respect to Dad as my Guide.
Dad was my Guide but I went out of his Control avoiding Clash !
All hail True Love
All hail True Love
Athena
Christina
Meaner than ever
On a new endeavor
The weather gets better
We do NOT need a new header
Toast to true love
There is one above
The missing letters are feared lost better calls shrieked into the mossy night where hovering the moon delights, in wolfish cries and another bursts the devil called and answered Ms. Hearst so while the nighttime day's mirror... cries are heard! They said that amber was a rock no more, for if serendipitously defined then hulking over the river is the divestment of the vines, but modern day America hasn't won the currency war, the Euro has it's place ensured, and though we wile through rows of corn our hearts aflutter as others mourn, be crisp beneath that blotted out apple tree, the asylum loves apple juice for free.
Father
what does that really mean
never there for me never cared for me
I stood there all alone
Your child your daughter
no protection for me
you not only scared me
you left me with a scar on my face
no pitty no shame I faced the world
as I do now all alone
Does it hurt....yes
Do I care No can't miss what never had
Not uncommon, kids left to fend for themselves
all alone please care for them
Fathers today put it down
cherish your girls
So they will know what it really means to say
Father
I love music
With a rapping beat
That boom, boom, booms
You right on your feet
...but Mama don't like
I love tuna
Really, fish of any kind
It hits the hollow part
That makes life divine
...but Mama don't like
I love movies
With a message of hope
Cussing is warranted
If it provides a hangman's rope
...but Mama don't like
Mama likes westerns
Where violence creates a world
Old time values
No justice for girls
...I don't like that
Mama likes patterns
That build sturdy gates
Change is scary
For those who can't relate
...I don't like that
Mama likes pleasure
That is permitted by "god"
She won't even look
At other paths to trod
...I don't like that
I love Mama...but Mama don't like me
Written by Trudy Schrader on 09-02-2026
Daughter Categories
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birthday, son, forgive me, growing up, father to, inspirational, missing my, mother to, sweetheart, proud of my, i love my
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Definition | What is Daughter in Poetry?
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