Sisters by Soul

 

Sisters by Soul

For the brave hearts who rise, and the souls who hold them.

We were strangers once,
Tied not by blood, but by bruised hearts
and silent midnights.
Each of us carrying
stories that cracked open our lives
like storms breaking skies.

Yet somehow,
in the wreckage of our separate sorrows,
we found each other—
a sisterhood not born,
but chosen
in the fire of grief,
in the light of healing.

You came to me like grace,
with eyes that understood
the language of breaking,
and hands that held mine
without asking me to explain the weight I carried.

We laughed through the ache,
shared tears like whispered prayers,
and built bridges from our broken pieces—
step by step, word by word,
we remembered who we were
before the world called us "leftovers"
or "divorced."

They said I was too young to have known such pain—
but my sisters, they saw the warrior in me.
"You are beautiful," they said,
"Not because you are untouched,
but because you rose."

"You are worthy," they whispered,
"Not in spite of the past,
but because you lived through it
and still dare to love."

My best friend dreams of a smile
on my lips that isn’t painted over pain.
That girl I met by chance—now my mirror, my guide—
she tells me there’s love ahead,
a safe kind,
one that does not demand my silence
or sacrifice.

We are not sisters by birth—
but by soul,
by survival,
by the soft unspoken vow:
"I see you. I lift you. I love you."

                                        KULSOOM AFZAL