By Sr. Kamila

Muslim Child, child of Peace, child of War, 

from a far-off distant shore, 

what do your black eyes see? 

My eyes are not only black. 

Sometimes they are blue as the sky 

or green as a tropical sea 

or brown as the trunk of a palm tree 

and every shade in between. 

My skin can be black as molasses 

or as pink as the blush on a rose, 

as golden as freshly made honey 

or dark copper brown as a penny 

and every shade in between. 

I am the richest of the rich 

and the poorest of the poor; 

as famous as famous can be; 

a general’s child, pampered and bored; 

a soldier’s child, orphaned by war; 

and every rank in between. 

I come from many countries, 

speaking many languages, 

but with one set of beliefs. 

I believe in God who sent 

Muhammad, Noah, Abraham, 

Moses and Jesus 

and every messenger in between. 

So then, Muslim Child, child of Peace, 

what do your bright eyes see? 

I see that we’re each a piece 

in the puzzle of humanity. 

I’ll try to understand you 

if you try to understand me.