Headscarf Poems

To feel sorry about touch

I walked near park with my dog, 
my dog I had with me.
There were boys playing Tennis, since I saw in which amount, I chose to take the other way.
Pulling the line of my dog tighter.
Not minding them much.
Suddenly I saw a Ball rolling by.
I took it and the boy ecountered me with a smile and offered me a hand.
Waiting, patiently.
I didn't look at his face.
I threw it on his hands, but he seemed not to have expected it, because I threw it on his nose.
I didn't look at his face.
But he laughed and said: ,,Thank you!"

I don't have anything against with touching hands, 
but sometimes when these situations happen I wonder, 
why the government doesn't except people with a beautiful headscarf doing it for their god.
Because even he, was not having anything against it.
And shaked it off with laugher for me.

Allah

With both feet on the ground, 
and a white dress covered my legs, 
I walked like my feet knew were to go.
The grass felt like a couple of plushies, 
and the smell felt like falling on dandelions, 
even though I need to sneeze.
The air felt like being in a soap bubble, 
which somehow stood still.
I felt somehow familary, 
no questions crossed my mind where I've been.
I knew the place.
I just didn't remember.
It felt like the hug of my mom, while she puts her fingers through my hair.
A headscarf is around my hair, but I did not at all wonder.
I felt safe and welcomed, because every other girl wore one too.
Even though I didn't knew what they names are, how old they are ir what they look like, everything seemed gently.
Since when does something seem gently? 
Towards a tree I was heading, wind danced on my face like a new skincare.
Beatifully Sound and white writing chose the right words.
In arabic and even though I didn't know what it meant.
I knew, what it said.


After that day, I prayed again.

Sign of the Times

When the captain said women and children first, he’d just grabbed my headscarf and purse

Change Is Coming

I met a woman fleeing from the triad.
Crossing on a ferry, far from her home
She told me of the life she once had.
In Bosphorus, struggling to hold on. 

Her hair was wrapped in a headscarf. 
Dreamed about the changes coming. 
with a shy smile and freckles spark
the stigma the held began revealing.

That bravest of desire to gain freedom.
Where family dignity does not agree.
That would see her being disowned. 
Left to live by myself as a divorcee.

Urbanize, families struggling to manage.
Change is coming by liberal ideas.
within the institution of marriage.
Even in the vast conservative places.

Have Petty old status blowing in the wind.
Freedom has a sense of empowerment.
Familiar friends are left behind. 
By subversive acts crossing the continent.

The Human Zoo

They pass my window every day
the young, the old, the tired, the grey,
the little woman going to church,
the teenage lover left in the lurch,
the silver haired lady, a faded ingénue,
the argumentative couple with children, two.
The retired school teacher with the nervous tic,
the lady in a headscarf walking very quick,
the Jehovah's witnesses who hover by and by,
looking and wondering is it worth another try?
The postman with a parcel, always for next door,
the reluctant school kid, wondering what education's for?
I sit and watch this panoply of ordinary everyday folk,
laughing, crying, interacting, sharing a current joke,
and wonder at the diversity of the people that I see,
and think how strange and wonderful and funny we can be.

The Way In

A fire burns orange and bright
in stark contrast against 
the black Bohemian sky,

crackling hard over sounds
of a furious pen scratching 
coffee stained parchment,

pausing to stoke flames, 
reflect inward, and slurp
crudely a harsh, smoky brew.

Breathing in deep the 
bitter, caffeinated aroma,
choking, expelling forth; 

returning its essence
in a visceral act 
of vulgar gratitude.

With a deep groan
his broken body relaxes
while a gust of salty air 

tousles the long, black hair 
free beneath a headscarf
of deep reds and blacks 

mirroring the gritty color
palette so salient
in his art and aura.

Annoyance sits heavy
on his weathered face, 
knotted like the cut wood

burning hot and fierce
in destructive release
of the flaring ire within.

What secrets lie bare
in that leather 
bound journal?

What surly words 
spill forth from 
fountain ink and fury?

Is he looking for a way out?
Or, by his own words,
does he seek the way in?

The Blue Lady

A face pack guaranteed to make Miffy’s face look year’s younger.
She had never had enough suiters to add up to a husband, so she bought it.
She packed it on one Saturday night, and avoided church on Sunday.
For the face pack refused to come off.

For weeks she refused to go anywhere, thinking it would fade.
Nothing took it off, even the sun did not fade it. It was azure blue.
She started going to the market, and to other places, little by little.
She wore a large headscarf, and diverted her head but the kids saw her.

“Hey Mom! There is that Blue Lady!” they would yell.
People renamed her Blue Lady and she became popular.
People liked her better than they had ever liked her before.
She was nicer now, kinder, more empathetic.

She understood people with trauma a lot better now.
She was not as quick to judge.
A wonderful man decided to date her.
The night before their wedding her face pack fell off. 

Fate in her best moment.

Rain On Me

Anticipated for, all of a sudden
I had to lay a grip on my hat
And hold close my unbuttoned button-less jacket
As the old ladies bend over for the swift of the dress
And young ones reach out for a headscarf, either as bag or book
Yet the lower generation sprint for the front door, home comfort
And as the spark! Bling! Bling!
And the creepy darkness
Split! Split! Splat!
Showers here and there
And for a moment, I dived into deep thought
'Should I return back home, but I have made it this far'
'If I revert now, wet knows me no more'
'But returning is quitting, throw in the day laid ahead'
'What if...' a slash before mine eyes and I skip I beat
For all the thoughts episode, yet still moving forth 
Watching every step I take yet I step into a puddle of mud, dirt
And turning off my skin senses, to ignore every drop splashing on me
To rush ain't an option, as I felt a running stream down my spine
And mine clothing gaining weight by every second
As I watched the drops dripping down from my jacket arms
Then I set mine gaze towards the bus stop
For it's the only hope before me, checkpoint
As she continues to Rain on Me...

Space-Poet
02/10/2017

She Stayed Strong

For my friend Angela Rickaway

She Stayed Strong

Overwhelming feelings should make her heart go weak
Facing cancer head on with no sound of a shriek
She stands firm planted in true love
SHE STAYED STRONG
Knowing that her strength comes from Above
Her beautiful eyes so ever baby blue bold
I’m sure there’s much pain she still hasn’t told
But even in the darkest hours she digs deep in her soul
For the love of her true friends blesses her tenfold
She stands firm planted in true love
SHE STAYED STRONG
Knowing that her strength comes from Above
Her enchanting headscarf proves powerful at site
She is her own superhero so sexy in her fight
Her strength and courage arose with living will
Her time is ever precious more years here she shall fill
She stands firm planted in true love
SHE STAYED STRONG
Knowing that her strength comes from Above

Death By Any Other Name

Your soul left your eyes
as you laid there and died
on that dirty Iranian street

They hovered o’er you –
to shield; cover you
but you took your last breath at their feet

The blood ran so dark
from beneath your headscarf
as your mother took hold of your hand

She rocked to and fro
and cried - even though
you were already dead in the sand

You’d made your voice strong
as you chanted your song
before bullets tore into the crowd

I couldn’t comprehend
what your cause was … and then
(they covered your face with a shroud)

Whether wrong or be right;
whatever the fight
no matter the country or name

This we ALL understand
that it favors no man
universally , DEATH is the same

Trees Talking

A widescreen angle of a steel rimmed fish is rumored to be rhymed with the stark motionless spectacles which are glimmering on the small oak table akin to spare ratchets or a rusted piece of metal. It is imperative on this particular journey to have ten arms sixty legs and a large tubular head. Now that looks especially nice in a headscarf of pure wool, nylon or even silk. Woven weaves without weeks. And weekends are not waiting so why waste a wader in a washing up bowl. To fish in a soup is to discover long lost particles. And particles can be very clever and charming when telling stories of oaths truths, and historical beams. Wow. Whose whooshing came out then? Was it the little pile of leaves or was it the dustbin bag? Who is to say that delivering a note to a goblin house would not exact great change in a cuckoo clock. So don't change a light bulb with a semi cable of carcass then. Haha rowing boats are arriving filled with French fries and salsas in tutus. Hahaha pink mustard jam jelly equals yum yum yum said an elephant to a bullfrog. Haha telephone smiling at a beanstalk talking. Xxxxx cumbersome cakes xxxxx recommendations zzzzzzz.~

The Age of Lycra

She was an ancient woman and

I used to see her 

every rainless early morning.

She always wore an overcoat

a headscarf, and thick and wrinkled 

old woman's stockings. 

Her gaunt and stubborn shuffle was ever being overtaken

by pairs of cheerful ladies, 

so confident

in brightly overburdened lycra.
	
They would send friendly words in her direction
	
and she would nod them gentle smiles in return.

I always knew that one fine day would dawn

when she,

and her headscarf, overcoat and thickly wrinkled hose,
 
would have become what all becomes.	
	             .         
And so the footpath now is theirs, the pairs, 

of cheerful ladies

so confident in brightly overburdened lycra

and forever XXL.

Purple

I woke up to an embracing sun 
I had heart to heart talk with a lady in a white coat
I saw a hyacinth purple flower
The color purple made me supple
I was floating in a happy bubble 
I witnessed a mother-daughter bond that no disease can steal
I wore a headscarf that won many eyes, including my own
Then I went to bed in the watch of a full moon

If I could pick a day, this would be it
Am glad I lived to experience it

My Black Hair Isnt Love Enough

soft
raven
jet 'BLACK'

short
puffy
afro 'BLACK'

thick
matted
tangled hair

unstyled
unkempt
headscarf
seals my 'BLACK'

thick
course
wavy
nappy headed grave


coil
curl
twist
my fingertips 
pleasant sore
my 'BLACK' hair scorn


rapunzel hair weave
creamy crack relaxer
black hair hatred
hair expresses rotten 


yet and still what is to love 'BLACK' hair

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