When you look at me
All that you can see
is the scarf that covers my hair
My words you can’t hear
because you’re too full of fear,
mouth gaping, all you do is stare
You think it’s not my choice
in your own “liberation” rejoice.
You think I’m uneducated,
trapped, oppressed and subjugated,
You’re so thankful that you’re free.
But non-Muslim woman you’ve got it wrong
You’re the weak and I’m the strong.
For I’ve rejected the trap of man.
Fancy clothes – low neck, short skirt
those are devices for pain and hurt.
I’m not falling for that little plan.
I’m a person with ideas and thought.
I’m not for sale, I can’t be bought.
I’m me – not a fancy toy,
I won’t decorate anyone’s arm,
nor be promoted for my charm.
There is more to be than playing coy.
Living life as a balancing game – mother,
daughter, wife, nurse, cleaner, cook, lover
and still bring home a wage.
Who thought up this modern “freedom”?
Where man can love’em and man can leave’em.
This is not free, but life in a cage.
Always jumping to a male agenda
competing on his terms.
No job share, no creche facilities,
no feeding and nappy changing amenities
No time off for menstrual pain,
“hormones” they laugh “what a shame”
No equal pay equal skill
your job they can always fill.
No promotion unless you’re sterilised.
No promotion unless you’re sexually terrorised.
And this is liberation?
Non-Muslim woman you can have your life.
Mine – it has less strife.
I cover and I get respected,
surely that’s to be expected,
for I won’t demean the feminine,
I won’t live to male criterion,
I dance to my own tune
and I hope you see this very soon.
For your own sake – wake up and use your sight.
Are you so sure that you are right?