Daughter of the First

She rose with fire behind her name,
A daughter born of hope and flame.
From Oakland roots to Senate floor,
She knocked on history’s waiting door.

With Tamil pride and Caribbean song,
Her presence told us we belong.
A voice of law, of justice clear,
Of breaking ground and drawing near.

She did not ask, she did not wait—
She ran with purpose, carried weight.
A fierce debate, a measured tone,
She stood her ground, she held her own.

Not perfect—none who lead are so—
But forged in pressure, made to grow.
A laughter bright, a spine of steel,
She showed the world what strength can feel.

The first, they said, in many ways—
First woman, Black and South Asian blaze.
But titles pale to truth she bears:
That power shifts when someone dares.

She walks the halls where few have been,
A mirror held for girls and kin.
Not just to dream, but lead and thrive,
To speak, to rise, to shape, to strive.

So say her name with reverence new—
For all the roads she’s walking through.
Kamala—spark of something vast,
A future blooming from the past.