Islam

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dear black folks i want to be white  dear white folks iwant to be black  dear halfcastes i want to be black and white at the same time  (much love to my kids) dear jews i want to be a muslim  dear muslims i want to be a jew can you help me out bro
As soon as the rosy-lining of sun appeared, The children sprang from their homes and met at the center. Their soiled feet pounded the stone pathways, alerting the
When I was younger I felt very lost I played with my toys But didn't realize the cost I knew I had a mission For my curiosity to explore I searched everywhere But never opened the right door
We come from a land filled with a loud and colorful noise echoing in the streets; timeless traditions; a love between everyone in the community, regardless of differences.
My name is Reda It means contentment in Arabic My mother gave me my name in reverence, finding meaning in a word that she could love her entire life
My name is Reda It means contentment in Arabic My mother gave me my name in reverence, finding meaning in a word that she could love her entire life
they all give me wary eyes cross the road to avoid crossing paths pull their children closer  holding them tighter the drunk men hoot at my covered behind "Allahu Akbar" they say 
Poetry has given me an outlet to proclaim my observations of the world.  To proclaim how people are mistreated.  To proclaim my human experience to selective eyes. 
Different but similar, in distinct scenes Interpretations of that which is “eternal” Some of the bounded in settings infernal, Variations seen      In the beginning, man created ideas
And the battle begins... He strikes from every angle...He sneaks in through them doors of... lust and desire.And every time you're weak, angry hungry or tired...HE FIRES! Liar....
Odessa stumbled in Bruised, bleeding, broken "Honey, what happened?" "Just some tea, please." Hijab around her neck like a noose Ripped silk and torn skin.
jihadjihadis     what was it?who are they?   Not a bunch of crazywar-fuelledblack-clothedextremists.  
America is not free, not until everyone has the same rights as you and me. We? Us? Them? Who am I to say we are the same. They fight to walk down the streets. I fight just to marry the man of my dreams.
2016 was the year I learned the definition of an anachronism, someone who doesn’t mold into their own time period, as if they’re some alien from another planet, a time traveler indefinitely stuck in the wrong century.
Mother you promised me With pinkies and wallahi’s and everything in between You promised we would be free   Every day I wake up wanting to flee With soundtracks of bombs and screams foreseen
Killin’ in the name of…Greed, and justice overseas A father died a martyr and now his family takes lead In the, anger, and angst that followsbut this is guilt that the west won’t swallow  
The times when I first used words to speak, talk, and prattle Were not the same experiences where I used them in a poem battle Writing came easy to me, so did speach and rhyming,
What do you think when you see that girl walking across the street?With her head held down, eyes forward, feet flat on the ground, the hijab covering her head full of disparaging thoughts?
Back when the two pillars of freedom collapsed A people, galvanized, suited up and axed The chance to make peace by going to war Without ever asking; What are we fighting for?
Walking down the street, my mind as clear as the baby blue sky, "Hey, look at that girl, she's one of them!" says one angry, aggressive guy Now my mind is not clear, it is far from pristine,
I won't call you a book because the words on your pages stretch beyond the confinds of sewn together paper  Allahuakbar  I can speak the truth even on an Island I know he can still hear me
I wish my culture would teach men to accept rejection. To stop showing up drunk to partiesand grabbing the arms of frightened women who are too afraid to say no.
You see I live in a time where the world would come out and question “What is this Hijab and this religion of mine?” And often the assumption would arise of oppression in Islam
I... Identity... Who am I? Female, A first generation American, Pakistani Muslim. Pakistan, base of culture
Recently I found out that a bible study made up of a few girls from my school discussed at one of their meetings how I am a hypocrite, because I say I am a christian, I say I believe in the words of the bible, but I also, quite loudly, o
Don't hate on me, cuz I'm muslim to the eye that sees.
All natural & no weave. If I was a dictionary I would define myself as Gold for the world to see. Rocking no booty short's for men to see.
I felt my eyes shut tight and my hands begin to rise, towards my ears, trying to block out the ghastly cries and heinous shrieks of those who had nothing more to hold on to, nothing more to try and survive for,
I think God has a cruel sense of humor. Because when I turned eleven and pleaded with all my might to become immortal, I heard Him chuckle in the confides of the newly blackened space
There is nothing wrong with asking a question But before you begin, allow me to answer some of the more common ones My scarf does not show regression And yes, I know I look like a nun I have plenty of hair
I represent the political party that stands on behalf of the half naked Barbie. I represent the woman of the 21 century and this woman is everything, except for her dignity.
You’re Muslim right? That’s pretty exoticIt's messed up how they show your people as so chaoticMy people? Who’s that? The people on the screen?My people come in all colors, races and creeds.
Could you love one whom you've never even seen? Could you cry for an ambition you've never even believed?
I cause concern Make heads turn While all my heart can do is yearn For you to understand That this was God’s command Not some man’s demand And that This life in the hood Is a choice
The chador draped across her
They slam Islam What I am, a Muslim A Muslim woman But it's cool You can laugh I can costomize Go from a red hijab to blue hijab This hijab And that hijab I am a fashonista
“Terrorist!” he yells, as the young Muslim woman passes.   9/11 “All I needed to learn about Islam, I discovered on 9/11.”   Islam
Outside my dusty windows pitch black dogs barking cats hissing four in the morning eyes glued together door opened creaking "wake up, wake up, subuh"
I am that HijabThat cloth, that fabricThat symbol, that fearIn people’s eyes Why does she wear it?
                                        Al-Masjid: The Mosque.                                                     Isaq                                                       God is Great! I’ve sinned.
  it wasn’t my choice  i want everyone to know  i didn’t want to do this but They grabbed me They threatened me They told me my family would suffer i had to protect them
My hijab is my identity. It covers and protects me. My precious skin not to be seen by any eye. What ever happened to women being shy?
When you think of islam, what do you see? A group of women covered modestly. Dressed in cloth that covers the body. Men all smiling and hugging profoundly. Praying to the One and Only Almighty. Giving charity and helping our friends.
I ended up doing this for a school project.
Hijabs, Prayer rugs, Tasbeehs, Salats, Bows, Pilgrimage I started with my creed but I forgot to say Bismillah first Because in the name of God, the most gracious, most merciful
I do not understand. No hello to people on the street. Keep walking, keep walking Don’t make eye contact Shit, are they talking to me? Keep walking, keep walking. We are cold individuals.
the rich fighting fish finds its reflection, like a brother’s forked electrical outlet that sent vibrations down his asking arm. we have it all but find ourselves unsatisfied.
(An Ode to my Hijab)
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