We are the daughters, first of our kind,

Bound to traditions both gentle and blind.

Taught to carry the dreams of our kin,

Yet left with questions we hold within.

We are sent off to school, and urged to comply,

To learn yet not question, to dream, yet deny.

But somewhere deeper, a quiet song,

Of lives unlived, of right and wrong.

Our brothers rise, with choices unknown,

Their paths unfolding as they have grown.

For them, the world is softer, wide,

We stand as pillars, our longing denied.

So we live in spaces narrow and small,

Between love and duty, honor and fall.

And in silent hours, we wonder still,

Of lives we dreamed and roads uphill.

Yet we are the first, the silent fire,

Forged in longing, love, and desire.

We watch, we wish, and quietly burn

For daughters who wait for their turn.