For my daughter

You’re not here and we havent met yet.
We will meet soon and up and until then, I want to try.
I want to try and build a world,
Where you can live for years to come.
Where you could build upon your dreams and call this place home.
Home: but what do you call a home that is slowly dying and decaying?
And I don’t talk of global warming and science and metrics beyond my comprehension.
I talk of decay that sets in when the rot of the ego dismantles the very thin fabric of tolerance amongst different individuals.
I talk of the decay of logic and rationality.

But you’re not here yet and until then
I hope home becomes a place where:
The choice of meat on your table is not dictated by archaic narratives.
You can fight for what you love with hope, dialectics and earnestness and can forego spite, wicked words and bigotry.
You will learn to live amongst all, irrespective of their chosen beliefs.
You will choose to live at, instead of seeking refuge in a stranger’s land.

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