Hijab - Poem by Artchil Daug
It was Thursday when I woke up dying
to feel the conundrum of your shadow
that hide away beneath that cloth swaying
curtains that cover an open window.
A pale face smiled growing weary inside
you, a prisoner of that forgotten war
seeking freedom in the rustic wayside
from sand storms wreaking havoc from afar.
Put away that mask and show me vigor,
learn from the actors of the old theaters
who lost their impulse in the script's rigor
but retained sound mind as their heart flutters.
Life is not a dress worn to please the gods
nor texts written by those few desert sods.
Comments about Hijab by Artchil Daug
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You