Woman, you are not a name; you are the moon.
A moon that guides when the path is lost,
the light that clears a space amidst the silence,
the flame that asks for nothing, the radiance
that returns even when the night is deep.
You are the earth where life learns to speak,
but you are also the cycle, the rhythm,
the tide that rises and falls without ever being lost.
You are a gentle fire when darkness seeks comfort.
You are a mother, the first light the world sees,
the first home, the pulse that marks the beginning of time,
the one who teaches a small heart to beat without fear.
You are a daughter, a reflection that moves forward,
a promise that walks and makes its way,
like a stubborn seed in the midst of winter,
like a silver thread in the deepest darkness.
Woman, you are presence.
Your strength makes no sound,
yet it is capable of moving the tides.
Your tenderness is an ancient form of resistance.
You are a bridge and you are a lighthouse.
I have seen you hold entire days with your two empty hands,
and yet, leave flashes of light in every gesture.
You are the secret current that moves the rivers.
I do not celebrate you, but I listen to you and acknowledge you,
and I let your light -the one that asks for no permission-
teach me to see with greater truth.