Muslim Woman. - Poem by Mary X
I open up my book of thoughts
And memories, and get struck
With a whispery clatter of voices and a blowing force:
‘I am not Indian, ’
I played ignorant in a white-man’s western slumber,
‘I am from Pakistan’.
‘I follow my husband to where he wishes to go’
(a flower chained to the linked cage
and set free only with death’s blow)
‘I believe in one god, one god, one god.’
The drapes of this lady fell creased and sombre,
Clinging to her body as her soul clung to her country.
A significant rock falls from the apex of Moses
And tumbles down to the shore, parts of it’s
Course, granite body flicker off into dust.
‘My husband is my freedom’
(The coloured dove can never fly;
it’s wings have been stumped and shaped into an incarcerated-continent)
Questions have no answers in this closed hamlet –
New ideas are greeted with no instead of Why?
I sip at my crystal-clear field of wine
And take a breath to resume this commodity
Of a female organ, living from the Soil of
Ignorance, living in her husband’s womb.
‘We follow the rules to follow more roads of rules’
My ignorance fades as a whole culture wraps
Itself with polythene naivety.
Of course I am not one to judge.
I am a simple muse to the chained dove
That usually cannot speak her mind and
Fly free. She carries her poverty on her shoulder;
A whole dedicated army of cultural
References with closed ideals and strong feet.
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