You see that thing on my head?
What is that? A hijab? A headscarf? A towel?
It doesn’t matter what you call it, because it’s just a word,
And you’re just a face that I probably will never see again.

I gazed in the mirror one last time,
to make sure nothing was wrong and everything looked fine.
“Perfect,” I thought and walked to the door,
when I felt the gentlest of hands lie upon my shoulder.

When hours are short and days are long,
When little goes right and much goes wrong,
To my close ones failing to impart joy,
My mind is a sponge, my time is a toy.

Forgive my trespasses and replace them with good deeds.

Poem by guest writer Sadf. My Struggle They ask: How will you progress in life with yourself covered from head to toe? I ask: How will I progress to the Other Life if I do not do so? They ask: What is the use of all your education if you do not care to make […]