In a society that is rife with immorality and crime,
Where everyone wants to be ahead of time,
where bare is beautiful, and exposure is expected,
where a woman is ‘liberated’ from feeling any shame,
She is given something which is more than just a name,
Some definition, highlighted contours, and that million dollar smile,
Make up to match her personality, a touch of class and her signature style,
As the world feasts their eyes upon her, she begins to thrive upon all of this ‘appreciation’
She races with dear life and may even reach the catwalk, though it is not her final destination,
Even with her miss world slash, she still yearns to be miss universe,
Constant dissatisfaction like a perpetual curse,
And as age begins to take its toll, she isn’t even noticed as she walks down the street
Tired and lifeless as she struggles to drag her feet,
Shaking those once so beautiful hands, she begins to lose her grip,
Alone and miserable, yearning for companionship,
She recounts the days of glory, so many years, and now just a trophy,
But with no one to applaud her great achievement,
She dies alone, a freedom fighter for women’s liberation?
Or a symbol of women’s social slavery and oppressive subjugation?
And then there is my hijab, my abayah and my niqab,
Protecting me with its layers like a pearl within its oyster
Away from harmful gazes and strange eyes,
Away from being judged by my dress size,
Pleasing My Lord, My Maker and Sustainer,
I feel safeguarded, shielded and complete,
I respect myself and this is what Islam teaches me,
That I am a ‘woman’ and not just an object or a commodity,
A woman of honour and dignity,
And modesty is the celebration of my femininity.
The more I think of women’s freedoms and rights,
The more my love for my Deen Islam just deepens and increases.
I love my hijab, my abayah and my Niqab,
They form the crown of a believing woman, never to let go and never to be left.