HIJAB MAKES ME A SLAVE
Hijab makes me a slave
To He that comforts me when in grave,
After I shall be reduced to corpse:
Whence I’ve drank from death’s cups.
Death cups of both sweet and sour
And bitter and salty, by the last hour,
Will I be asked of life I did ride,
If it was perfumed by Hijab- my pride?
Hijab- my pride; Niqab- my guide…
To becoming a lunar bride
Of illuminated faith (Imaan),
Whence I’d lowered the gaze of a man.
The gazes of human which shaytan pets
Couldn’t cut through my Hijab- I bet.
This pride makes me secured and saved.
Why won’t I rejoice if by it I’m enslaved?
Though I’m not enslaved nor maltreated
Instead, my weak Faith’s wounds are treated.
Though obstacles have formed it’s team;
Mockery and my tiny self esteem.
Self esteem that makes me want to ask
If putting on Hijab will be an easy task?
I felt lonely, struggling with my identity.
I hadn’t understood the hijab- so, see?
I only thought it chases gazes of men.
I only thought it’s identity of Muslim women.
Not until I got to know her (the hijab)
I fell in instant love with her(my hijab).
Hijab is a connection between me and my lord.
It proves my beauty is validated by God.
So- why won’t I be proud being it’s slave?
Hijab made me a queen who is so brave.
©Ahmadu Usman Ode
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