In my prayers, you are an angel with wings broken.

I find a flower that died before it bloomed, like the metaphor of a child who got lost before knowing the way. I was not there in its happenings but your eyes mirror a lost world where there was joy before you came yet you fell into pain.

In my prayers, I try to ask and not ask. At every amen I swallow my doubts, and the hard lumps are stuck in my chest. Before the eyes of God how did my prayer miss its way?

I am learning to tend a flower I can’t touch, shed tears that melt into wax for mending wings. Guide a lost child back only on your knees, equal heights. And resign that this could be your prayer all your life.

Nenye Okoye loves God, people, money, and music. Likes beauty, poetry, and proverbs. Listens to Phyno, reads Dike Chukwumerije, watches beer adverts, and visits Quora. She’s on Facebook as nenye1okoye.