That's Not My Nikaah Poem by chamba k.k

Born sinless, I, me, the girl

Babbling, from hand to hand.

I, me, the girl, waddling

Across life's thin strand.

Waddled to walk, babbled to talk

I, me, the girl, the coloured girl.

My fingers unbend to dark depression,

I, fed mouthful, for mental submission.

Bend to depression, submitted to growth

Stifled, I drew close towards the window,

Athirst for freedom, for love, hungry

I, me, the girl, coloured, muslim, cased, not endowed.

Swiftness laden, he, the current, of change

Gushed, uncased me, the coerced other.

Au naturel, I breathed bare

To quench my thirst, quell my hunger.

The current, the saviour, it is a he, it is a he.

Lo! knot nuptial, am haled, me, yes me.

Veil unveiled, conjoin why I may

I, not 'the girl', just I, have my way.

For pecking order, dare me ram,

My body mine, and I, no thing.

Bartered to be, I seek not that sham.

That's not my nikaah, no, not mine.