Blooming Moons: 2 Poems by Simra Shadood

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The perfect Hijabi

Hijabi, a woman who wears the hijab,

Hijabi, a woman frowned upon in this world,

Hijabi, a woman looked down upon by her community.

She tugs at the ends of my hijab, thinking about how she would be more comfortable in a jilbab,

But no, she lays out a pair of jeans and a loose-long fitted shirt for a modest look.

Here they are, constantly mistaking her modesty for boring and lame,

and I have to say this makes me feel ashamed,

No matter how much she defends, she will always be threatened.

Because when she wears an abaya, she has too much Haya,

But when she wears joggers, she becomes the monster.

“Because to you Allah I am your beloved, but to the world I am dreaded,

To you I am perfect, but to them I am the defect.

No because if I don’t wear the trendy crop tops and sneak out to the rooftops,

then I’m the reject” she says.

No because the title Hijabi means so much more,

This title I have adored before I knew what it meant.

Hijab, its more than just a scarf, it’s a set of rules representing modesty and morality,

A set of rules that has been sent down by the most benevolent, the most merciful,

Yet has been reduced to “just a scarf.”

Yet it has been reduced to mere humans to judge.

Yet its honor has been reduced to being ridiculed by others.

Remember why you did this, she knows, she knows that she’s a queen wherever she goes,

gotta put the crown on and she’s ready to go.

the coronation already took place,

maybe if you did some research, it’d replace that ignorant space.

Remember why you chose this.

Hold your head up high dear, it’s 2021 a sister had the choice,

So, stop treating her as if she didn’t have a voice.

Remember, you wear it to honor your faith, so tell them to lower their hateful gaze

Loving for the sake of Allah

My hearts racing,

I do not know why or how,

But it happens when he is near me.

Standing next to him, our hands brush against each other,

I take a few steps away from him to calm myself,

But it does not stop.

My face flushes and eyes drop,

I look up and his eyes meet mine.

What is this feeling Ya Allah,

Why does his name find my lips?

Why does he flood my duas?

Why is his face all I see?

What is this restlessness?

If this is meant to be then ameen.

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Hi! My name is Simra Shadood, and I am 17. I was born in New York and moved to Florida when I was four, but I like to identify as both a New Yorker and a Floridian. I absolutely love the arts and have always been involved in some way, whether it is playing an instrument or singing, I have done it all. During my downtime, I love to watch Bollywood movies it is a habit I have had since I could remember and reading POC romance novels; my favorite one is Salam, with love by Sara Sharaf Beg.

Artist’s statement: I write poetry because I love words. As a child, I grew up listening to old Hindi songs and Islamic Urdu ghazals which contained poetry that I fell in love with but translating it to English does not do it justice. Words have so much meaning to them and as a society, people downplay the effect words have on someone. I find words to be like colors, there are so many possibilities, so many ways to express yourself to create fantasies and worlds beyond what this one has to offer. By writing poetry, one can create what was unimaginable into a vivid world that maybe others will take interest in.

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24 November 2022