I was born of this desert air,
cradled in the warmth of a sky so wide
it swallowed all my fears whole.
Abu Dhabi — not merely a city,
but the first word my heart ever learned
to call home.

My mother’s hands, my father’s stories,
the schoolyard where I grew my bones —
all of it held gently, quietly,
by a land that asked nothing of us
but that we thrive.
And so we did.

Now I watch my daughters run
across the same bright earth,
their laughter rising like a call to prayer
into the blue of an Emirati morning —
and I understand, fully,
what it means to be safe.

Beyond these borders, the world shivers.
Storms gather, fires speak in ugly tongues.
Yet here — here the streets are lit,
the hospitals stand ready,
the children sleep without flinching
at sounds in the night.

This is not luck. This is vision.
A leadership that looked at sand
and saw towers.
That looked at heat
and built gardens.
That looked at its people
and chose — always — them.

From the skyline that speaks of ambition
to the quiet policeman on a quiet road,
from the museums that tell us who we are
to the hospitals that keep us here —
every detail whispers one truth:
you are cared for.

I have walked these roads in every season of my life —
as a child, as a dreamer,
as a woman, as a mother.
And in each season this country met me
not with walls
but with wings.

So let this be my prayer,
my offering, my small and earnest salute —
to a nation that holds many nations in its arms
and calls them all welcome.
To a flag that flies
not just above us, but for us.

May the date palms never stop their bowing.
May the Gulf keep singing its ancient lullaby.
May this land be blessed
as deeply as it has blessed me —
root by root, star by star,
generation after generation.
I have lived no other sky.
I need no other home.
الإمارات — my soul’s address,
now and always.

 

– a parent of Merryland