My hijab is a piece of imagination
a symbol of Islamic populism,
yet I get carried away by racists
misjudging my outer belief, only
for the sake of white extremists,
I cry and wet my birth certificate!
why am I a Muslim? Is it my choice?
I see a minute third-piece frame
down the lane-a sorrow to share,
it chokes my individuality- an insult
to my devotion for god, for life ;
yet, people have the time to call
us terrorists when they roam naked,
some pretending to be feminists
and lovers! Reality is a bitter piece
of chocolate melting away as time fades,
as it erodes the values we held before,
20th century is still marred by those
who wish to keep their history books
unfolded, un-kept and unstated;
a wish down the memory lane is needed
for it will awaken the senses of my fellow
brothers and sisters fighting over a shawl
covering my head!
 
I am curious and this curiosity is not a mere
joke, its the curiosity weaved into a cloth
hiding my sensitive and strong brain
from those “all-seeing” eyes around me,
pretending to expose my hair as if it was
something of utmost importance and value,
but friends,  it’s nothing, it’s a trick
by those who seek to humiliate me and
my faith for god, and I am sure that this
will echo for the decades to come,
for me, a hijab is – “ a piece of head
covering worn by women of the world”;
and I am sure that our fight for the right
to wear something will reprimand
and will be carried out by my fellow
successors and those who shed light
to our cries and woes in this big world
of ours!
[AMEN]

Doves sit in the square of marble,
and sunlight entombs the jewels
on top of the holy crescent – Islam,
a world full of white dotted capes
and those who pity on Jihad know this,
they are blind to his faith, his pattern
to lay in the glory of Muhammad,
hooking the world with blistering sins
9/11 a myth around, Syria to my heart,
the world sits abound to watch the hate
and the racist get away with my skates,
poorly lit candles line the streets
to the road defining my conscience and fee,
a long stubble of fleece flee the marketplace
eaten by the souls in Ramadan and Eid,
Europe is caught by the chaos, sadly odd
but satisfying for the gloomy eyes staring
at the long pages of Quran – Allah O Akbar….
I set my feet apart to the horizon of Qawwali
a prayer on the mat of holiness and a play-
ground for my state.

Before we take on our foot,
we are treated like cotton rags
a rattle in one hand, and a bottle in the other,
yet we **** up our salivating tongue
using our tiny limbs and pebble-sized fingers,
we are shown as dolls in museums
dolls who collapse, yet their struggle
is shown as lightweight and fed to the vultures,
—
Our ankles press against the sand grains
under the sweltering of the sun
and the rising of the moon,
we rise from our berths undead
to haunt our freedom and rights given in books,
—
I start the Mandela effect in 1800’s
manufacturing slaves as robots,
still our mascara hides underneath
and our stick is glued to our hand,
a hand of slavery.

I.
The cold concoction between us gets mixed up,
And sails with our boat away
Into a far, far away land
Landing in the ballerina’s footsteps – so elegant
With every twist and twirl setting us into motion,

II.
We kiss the lilac sky for purple reigns in soon
And red turns my jeans green with envy,
It’s worthless but worth a try, for a trial is limited in life
Abstract rumours stick like labels on my ankles,
For it is meant to wear off and die

III.
I hear every single untainted bell ringing in me
So, is Moses or Allah supposed to reside in us?
Or is it the temples where I have placed my mind
Near a well-lit hearth ?

IV.
I outcry my pain for pure pleasure,
And my tears justify the cause for my psyche thoughts
For it scrambles like whiplash streaks on my backyard fence
So fine that even I forget my existence as an introvert in this world,

V.
The pentagonal set is no different since it outshines the rest
And by the rest I mean the crack-laden windows of my home,
The place where I reside is a mere symbol to admire,
For my virtues are dearth in meaning;
I rest with my feet laid down

Infinity tattooed on her hand
Flinching using a looking glass,
It’s smothered thoroughly
By the tides of war
She turns black and gets offended
For racist elements persist,
Her image is burned by a nemesis
Making a mockery of herself,
Her fingernails clip off
But it still rests in her desires
Slitting the plank on racism,
She shells out all her insults
And burns it like crumpled paper
Sitting in her brain- a meme,
It grins at her, dead feelings underneath.

# PREVENT RACISM # BLACK LIVES MATTER.

A girl weeps in the limelight
Waiting for the days to end,

A ship anchors its weight
Where a girl weeps in the limelight
Waiting for the days to end,

The bird flies over the cloud
And a ship anchors its weight,
Where a girl weeps in the limelight
Waiting for the days to end,

Rain descends like stars
The bird flies over the cloud
And a ship anchors its weight,
Where a girl weeps in the limelight
Waiting for the days to end,

Bees hover over my memoir
Rain descends like stars
The bird flies over the cloud
And a ship anchors its weight,
Where a girl weeps in the limelight
Waiting for the days to end,

Earth sleeps in her lap
Bees hover over my memoir
Rain descends like stars
The bird flies over the cloud
And a ship anchors its weight,
Where a girl weeps in the limelight
Waiting for the days to end,

She descends to death !

A muse plays my harp
strings made of veins and thread,
cobblestones line over my body
having bric-a-bracs in the evening,

Rain splashes over shelves
and ego vapourizes like helium,
pyres burn my effigy tonight
stardust shines the bubble
tearing ashes like paper,

Warheads crack my halo from within
setting me up like the haze,
my lip syncs with the beats
dancing my limbs as it heeds away,

Clouds shower blessings upon my head
the chakra opens as if unbolted by wind,
clear conscience reigns inside me
and photos set us apart like fences .