by Enas Suleiman
The absurd words like stones that you threw
Flew towards me causing my veil to flow from the blow
As they twisted around me, through me like a cyclone
Oh how I wish from your ridiculously high throne, you are thrown
Shown to the gates of the unknown
Overthrown and alone
Yes Mr. President, I choose to avail and wear a veil
From a trail of eyes that follow me like I’m on sale
But I refuse to hide in a hollow cave and let you build my grave
I’d rather take on being brave and not waive
I’d rather take a chance with your ignorance
Teach it not to make judgments without substance
And not embroider media
Rather than read a reliable “Islamopedia”
My mind wasn’t brainwashed with your publication
But you filled the Muslim nation with frustration
Why are you forcing a relation
Between veiled women and discrimination
Why do we have to be the headlines in every TV station
We come to your land peacefully for the best education
But now I come to you for an explanation
As to why we aren’t welcome
Like we’re filth from the slum
Freedom?
How will that come?
When we’re looked at like scum
But no, I will not succumb
To words from someone dumb
Who doesn’t know his face from his bum
No Mr. President, I don’t have Bin Laden tucked under my dress
No Mr. President, I don’t have bombs strapped to my chest
Yes, the Bedouins and camels have allowed me to have a successful career
And you know what Mr. President? My tent is a costume; Halloween did come early this year!
The imaginary bruises you see are not an indication of abuse
That is a label that I refuse so don’t get confused
My hijab wasn’t enforced
And no I don’t feel any remorse
It was my very own choice
And yes I do have a voice that says:
I will wear it every day and everywhere proudly
And not hide behind a full suit and security cowardly
I will tower over your irrational remarks
And your exaggerated exclamation marks
I will let you see our unveiled hearts and minds
And prove to the likes of you that our veils aren’t blinds
Once you stop looking at my dress and talking to the press, you’ll see we’re just like the rest
I am here to express and stress
We are not oppressed nor are we depressed
We feel zest
We feel blessed
I am zest
I am blessed.
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