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judy smith Feb 2016
On World Hijab Day, which was on February 1, you didn’t have to be a Muslim to wear one. The designated day was first announced in 2013. Founded by activist Nazma Khan, the story behind World Hijab Day is an emotional one which speaks of the bullying, prejudice, physical and racial abuse Khan endured as a young child who migrated to the US from Bangladesh. These unkind imputations were all because she wore a hijab.

Since launching an online store in 2010 to sell hijabs, Khan has received an outpouring of support from hijab-wearing women across the globe who have shared with her their own terrifying stories because of their headscarves.

Today, World Hijab Day is celebrated in 116 countries around the world. Although the declaration received negative criticisms from some who saw it as a “well-financed effort by conservative Muslims to dominate modern Muslim societies,” others respect the day. One such person was New York Assemblyman David Weprin, who in his feature address on World Hijab Day, said: “As the prime Assembly sponsor of the Religious Garb bill in New York State, A2049, I stand with all Americans of faith, regardless of their choice, to wear a hijab, kippah, turban, or cross. All Americans of all faiths should be allowed to freely exercise and display their religious choice without the fear of violence and bigotry.”

Here at home, women’s rights activist and model Naballah Chi has not been quiet about her love and honour for the true meaning of the hijab. In an interview with the T&T; Guardian, Chi explained the meaning of the hijab and why it’s worn.

“The literal meaning of hijab is to veil, to cover, or to screen. Islam is known as a religion concerned with community cohesion and moral boundaries, and therefore the hijab is a way of ensuring that the moral boundaries between unrelated men and women are respected,” said Chi.

She added, “In this sense, the term hijab encompasses more than a scarf and more than a dress code. It is a term that denotes modest dressing and modest behaviour. Wearing the hijab is a commandment from Allah. The majority of Muslim women wear hijab to obey God, and to be known as respectable women.

“The basic requirement of the hijab is that a Muslim woman should cover her head and ***** (chest) and her body. So in the last 30 years, hijab has emerged as a sign of Islamic consciousness and women’s assertion to obey their lord. A woman wearing hijab becomes a very visible sign of Islam.

“The aura of privacy created by hijab is indicative of the great value Islam places upon women. Therefore, hijab is not a symbol of oppression. The hijab does not prevent a woman from acquiring knowledge or from contributing to the betterment of human society. While those who seek to ban hijab refer to it as a symbol of gender-based repression, the women who choose to don a scarf, or to wear hijab, in the broadest sense of the word, view it as a right and not a burden,” she explained.

She said wearing the hijab has given her the freedom from constant attention to her physical self.

“My appearance is not subjected to scrutiny, my beauty, or perhaps lack of. Instead it has been removed from the realm of what can legitimately be discussed,” she said.

Chi comes from a world of beauty pageants where she once felt pressured to put down her hijab in exchange for a crown.

After understanding the true meaning behind the hijab, and why she wore a hijab as a Muslim woman, she decided to design a fashionable collection called Classic Woman—not the conventional headscarf, but rather, beautifully coloured pieces which bear intricate artwork. They can range from embroidery to sequins or even tie-dye. The sky is the limit when she puts her fashionable sense into motion.

Chi said the collection was inspired by both The Great Gatsby and the Renaissance eras of power dressing.

“My collection features designs showcasing the powerful but elegant and well-tailored woman.

Chi Collection’s trademark fabrics are soft, beautiful silks, chiffon, sequins, embroidery and bridal laces. Distinctive attributes are the colours scarlet red, white and black, in keeping with the classic fashion palette and to pay homage to my country as a Trinbagonian designer,” said Chi.

Her collection was launched in November 2015 at the Red Runway Fashion Gala held in Port-of-Spain. The collection will be available for purchase via Chi’s upcoming website.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-2015
Isabelle May 2017
I can't sleep
The horrible news is bothering me
My fellow Filipinos in Marawi
Are being attacked by Maute Group/ISIS
They are burning down the place
The houses, the hospitals, the churches
And if you can't prove that you are a Muslim
They'll take you as a hostage
Those who don't wear hijabs "are taken care of"
Horrible, really horrible
My fellow filipinos there are suffering
Muslims and non-muslims
It's not supposed to be about religion
It's supose to be being people, human
It's suppose to be "humanity"



*"Save me from people of the world" Psalm 17:14

It's horrible, really horrible. How can these people be so cruel?? It's really scary, really scary
Almighty God, I pray for my fellow Filipinos to stay strong amidst this crisis. May we find strength in each other and may you protect each of us from those inhuman people. We pray for peace and unity. Amen
Larry Schug Feb 2019
The white cells,
seemingly not fearful of  
oozing,
festering,
metastasizing,
fear black cells,
wearing hijabs or dreads.
The white cells
are fearful of the brown cells
that **** and process their chickens
and mow their lawns for them.
The white cells fear the red cells
though they like moccasins, canoes,
and wild rice soup,
fear yellow cells
may be smarter than them
so they label them
***** and Chinks.
The white cells  
don’t seem to mind
asphalt-coating,
starlight-stealing,
convenience store sprawl
devouring healthy green cells--
alfalfa cells,
forest cells,
swampy, boggy cells,
black-eyed susan cells.
The Chamber of Commerce
calls it growth,
progress;
but this town
needs a tourniquet,
maybe chemotherapy.
If thine eye offends thee
pluck it out....

War offends
my eye.

All my
senses
defiled
*****
disemboweled
by the
abomination
of war.

My mind
disregards
denigrates
reneges
warps time
destroys values
alters psyches
lays waste
to my
conscience
of hope.

Mine eye offends me
the complicit witness
complacently
ambivalent
turning deaf ears
to groans
of the wounded
wails of the aggrieved
silence of the dead;
shutting doors
to sanctuaries
where refugees
seek safe houses,
locking factories
where men seek work,
level homes
where women nurture,
strafe playgrounds
where children laugh,
raise cities
where people
learn to be human,
immolate mosques
where
God's Children
cry out to the
Beneficent One.

Mine eye offends me,
my gut sickens,
to witness
the slaughter
of innocents
droning on
no angels to save
the million Issac's
savagely smashed to bits
by a Tomahawk's blow.

God's vengeance
escalates
the celestial ledgers
dripping red ink
from excessive
collateral damage,
people reduced
as objects used
to secure a loan
indeed an ARM
on a real time
American nightmare
whose reset rate
is mounting body counts
and massive budget allocations
protecting undisturbed flows
of corporate profits
valued in barrels
of imported blood.

Mine eye offends me
an innocence lost
Veritas vanquished
life is devalued
humanity debased
compassion defunct
empathy a twisted satire
an indelible weakness
incidental hostage
to the torridness
of the lurid play
of savage nations
projecting will,
a devastation
of action.

Mine eye offends me
the message of
sweet Jesus
a way of light
transformed into
biblical justification
agitprop verse
stoking blood lust zeal
for apostate infidels
sons of Abraham's
unworthy spawn,
of Hagar the *****
******* child Ishmael
turned out again
from tribal tents
of an absentee father
from an unfriendly
paternity.

This black *******
an abomination
in the sight of Allah
celebrates
a zeal to ****
unholy disciples
yearning to fill
banana crates
with body parts
draped in
drab Hijabs
decorated with
satanic verses
from a
Holy Quran
carved with
bayonets
of self righteous
Crusaders
armed with rifles
inscribed with
Gospel verses
on deadly gun
barrel stocks
to ramp the passion
of the righteous Crusade
against Godless apostates.

Mine eye offends me
as I witness
the **** of
corporate mercenaries
churning bereaved
Blackwaters
beholden only
to shareholders
gobbling spoils of war
to safely exit
to private vomitoriums
to expunge the excess
of gluttony
only to
quickly return
to engorge themselves
at the public troughs
again.

No constitutional
restraints
save the
strict guidelines
of holy
corporate governance scriptures
ruthlessly enforced with
golden carrots
of multi-million dollar
stock options
and the brutal stick
of shareholders divine right
to quarterly dividends
and above average
equity returns.

Corporate warriors
anointed by
holy oil
proffered
by capitalist shamans
and US Senators
conferring
jurisprudential deferment
on civil law
recusing them from
any behavior
to recognize the humanity
of captive insurgents.

Mine eye offends me,
as the flag
draped coffins
of returning
servicemen
and women
continue to pile
on the boiling tarmac
of Dover Air Force Base.

Tearful salutes,
folded flags
and mournful dirges
of prerecorded Taps
are small compensation for
shattered families,
and a wasted life,
unnecessarily spent,
criminally sacrificed
in a pointless conflict
in service to a lie.

Mine eye offends me
as I watch
my country's soft parade
of growing militarization
xenophobic fear
compelled patriotism
salute and goose step
to the flash of sword
and the sound of guns
and the glittering
medals of valor
adorning the chests
of a nations warriors.

How barbaric
are we?
allocating
overstuffed
apportionment
of weapons
and armories
while
people are
foreclosed
forcing armies
of unemployed
Joads
to ride
en masse on
an Acela Express
to a crowded
poor house
a listless journey
on pock marked
highways
arriving at
dreaded
destinations
to defunct
townships
offering
empty factories
and closed schools.

Screaming in silence
I scratch at my eyes
with numbed fingers.

Matthew 18:9

Music Selection:
The Doors, The Soft Parade

Oakland
3/17/10
jbm
T Nov 2014
it is an injustice
and when it happens
your fists clench
teeth grinding against each other
as you bite down hard
and hold back the voice that
they've already silenced
you see
there are three kinds of people that the world loves
four kinds if it's a good day and the sky is blue
five if you squint
six if you close your eyes
seven if you never listen to the screams
eight if you stop being able to feel sorry
for the dead boys in the street
and the girls whose hijabs are starting
to resemble bandages on top of war wounds
like their existence is something that
some enemy with more guns than compassion
can't bear to see
but there are three kinds of people that the world loves
the rich
the white
the cishet male
it seems if you have money
then you get what you need
if you skin is the color of cream
you get what you want
if your body matches the on/off binary
that some dead white guy built up
in a desparate attempt at stifling
a world he didn't understand
then you get safety
if your love can fit neatly
in teh confines of a church
whose god is more disappointment
than righteous anger
because the time for anger was years ago
the time for anger was dead men and women
people with stars in their front windows
and people with triangles on their breastpocket
the time for anger
was a young girl
staring at a young girl
as her parents threw her to the dogs
as her flesh was torn for teh sake of blessings
as her body was cursed for the sake of god
as her existence was removed
erased
ignored
for teh sake of someone else's comfort
you see the world is a bad place
full of battles that no one wants to fight
full of wars that no one wants to see
and you will stand some day
in front of a sea of people
and try to profess yourself a prophet
you will proclaim your news good
you will paint peace across your forehead
like that will distract from the blood on your hands
but by your silence they will know you
by your soft steps
your late entrance
your blank face at the sight of their dead children
they will recognize you for what you are
and their fists will clench
their teeth will grind against one another
as they bite down hard
and hold back a voice that they
that you
already silenced
shireliiy Nov 2015
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Jessica Hanna Jun 2020
These drapes are heavy built
The sunlight will happily bounce off of their light exterior
There is no need to look beyond the drapes
The drapes that prove to be fatal
Wrapped around each ignorant mind

Now bare we stand strong
Facing the sun we see nothing of what we thought

Hijabs fall to the floor
Kangas ripped
Rebozos torn and thrown

The blood spilt is red
Unable to distinguish the blood by race
Many know that pale skin is often stained red

The Drapes are a comfort
Some never want to seek further
Those who do find the truth

The ashes of the fallen stick to their feet
The rubble created by power hungry individuals
Are hot to the touch

“I am an American citizen.”
“I cant breathe.”
“I don’t have a gun. Stop shooting.”

The drapes are now being recognized and torn down
We stand together
Fighting for basic human rights

We will walk the movement
Even at our lowest point we will still stand tall
And never seek comfort in the drapes again
Nemusa Dec 2024
They run,
through streets that scream of bomb smoke and shattered bone,
their shadows swallowed by the black of hijabs,
a mother swaddles her babe, her heartbeat louder than the guns.

Blood whispers its story
on trembling hands—whose hands?
Hers, his, the boy too small to carry grief,
but already has it, pressed like a kiss on his brow.

How long?
How long before the dream of faces turns to ash?
Before names become nothing more than echoes
sung to the fleeing, like lullabies of loss?

The gun is no longer an object;
it is an extension of them, fused to flesh,
its weight the weight of survival,
its promise another lie whispered to the children.

They run,
but the streets do not let go.
The ruins hold their breath,
cradle them in decay,
and ask, "How much longer?"

The answer—
silent, like the graves they leave behind.
I've listened to different gurus sattelite their messages from brooding

tax-paying entities

and maybe swallowed enough for my own labyrinth

to let mosquitos and even leeches have their own have at it

there have been enough essays' published in my college days to keep me occupied, though I was high I managed to write a couple more (essays) to **** up against em

(if I haven't proven a point already)

throw a sucker punch across the blue stream ralleys' and then an abusurdist crusade will hatch itself on proletariat jargon for mind game dummies

any point to get sicker?

cause with another delving pincher you'll find yourself in a new clincher that sets up moral envies that sip acid juice and grab ivy's for escapist hijabs and lickedey split you'll think "best of luck" to the nonprofet outlets trying to bring awareness to trashcan lids that could be waddled in an out of brewery suds for clinking pennies, shaken up by a weary sister coffee can tips that are end up swallowed by the family ford and hi cee sips, count the frays:

and portraits of drawn meals seals the deals

and yolking enough eggs for developing teenagers

and whisking ***** manifestations

and ode to band posters by third party members

and shine a light on rescue missions

play clue guessing who posted that one, could it be the unexpected or the obvious?

the former ******* your cheeks with marlmalade,

the latter maybe a pictograph to save

yeah, I'd look it over again,

I wish for a paint brush to search for that hidden gem of maroon 7

and I swear they don't make a mustard with gas station cherry sour

of course, I'll blow a poison dart through the numbers dialed for lionesque mantels that spit ice y hot all over the resurfacing faces from burlesque challenges dated two weeks back,

now got to remember

was that where I was at?
TSBP Dec 2019
There’s a city

north of nowhere

A city

stuck in yesterday

with no tomorrow to

speak of

A city

made up of alleyways

and unfulfilled dreams

Empty promises and

empty stomachs



Stone blocks jut out

haphazardly

filled with individuals

too individual

to stand out

A mixture of

hijabs, crop tops and

sandal shoes

Spending days

whiling away

like puppets without a master

A hub

of liars , thieves

and middle-age crises



There's a city

devoid of colour

making the profane

mundane

The only joy coming from

rudimentary graffiti

rough blues and

faded yellows litter

the wall

Lampposts patrol

patchwork roads

like burnt matchsticks

twisted and bent

from years of wear

Where did their

smiles go?

— The End —