- Yasmeen Abunasrah
Secoulth - by Yasmeen Abunasrah
Perfect, they call it, as we should be,
A pure rose, out of reach. I lay to dream.
The desire for acceptance, maybe then I’ll be free,
I, in the shadows, a silent scream.
Shoulders heavy, sagging. All the weighing burdens, I forever take.
Quick to play mind games, reeling in and out, a destructive wave of thoughts,
Black and white, they say, not a life, rather, a rulebook.
A Muslim woman, never safe, always changing spots.
Hijabs, a simple headpiece, seen as a label.
When truly, it is a symbol of courage, a non-betrayer.
To society, those who stand out, are unstable.
After worldwide attacks, we, who look as the slayer,
Are considered one without a doubt.
Every turn, another being, one more look,
For many, a struggle to walk their route,
Our garments, attracting eyes, all shook.
To walk within another’s realm, a fantasy.
Being around certain expectations, becoming unstable,
I, the wind that is howling, weightless, in agony,
Believing I am the devil in a crowd of angels.
Yet, I make dua to my Lord that I will be okay,
Inspired by those who choose their religions over everything,
Bilqis Abdul-Qadir, a Muslim woman, no longer to play.
Many women brought down to trigger what is within.
But, we were not created to please the obstacle,
However, that who is above all of us.
Bringing my face to the ground daily, as possible,
Trusting that what is current, will pay off in the afterlife, thus,
In order to trust the process, you must believe,
Sadly, this trait not simply up a being’s sleeve.
Throughout time, one’s feelings, intelligence, and maturity bend.
Being patient seems to act as a blanket of darkness.
Do not fall away from who you are,
Rather, teach those who fell as you did with a scar.