Some conversations never leave you; rather, they linger and leave a mark. Years ago, I experienced such a moment, and from that moment a poem was born.
It was 2012, and I waiting for my ride home at a coffee shop after work. As I sat, a man approached me, and, so impactful was our interaction, I was inspired to channel our conversation – nearly word for word – into art.
At the time, I didn’t realize how the moment would stay with me or how relevant it would still feel today. Because, if we’re being honest, the negative perceptions surrounding Islam that spurred that coffee house chat haven’t changed as much as people like to pretend. In fact, sometimes I feel it has gotten worse. There are still many misunderstandings about Muslims and our lives here in America. In my view, there is a lot of projection and, sadly, many people who feel very comfortable hating what they’ve never taken the time to understand. But that night, in the quiet of a coffee shop, there was a genuine question and a sincere answer. This is the fruit of that interaction.
Oh, beautiful girl, I couldn’t help but notice your style/smile, can you tell me why you’re so covered up?
So I told him
I was born a Muslim
Handpicked
Chosen and molded by the fashioner of men
And as I grew to understand His pen
I then began to wear Islam like I chose it
To understand my purpose
I had to learn about His Oneness because a man is only as authentic
As the study of his worship
So my readings were between the pages of pseudo and perfect
The Holy Qur’an is an ocean too deep for me to scratch its surface
So I begin with a declaration
I believe in
Allah
Malaaikah
Kutubullah
Rasuls
Qiyaamah
Taqdir
Aakhira
I repeat I believe in God
His angels
His Books
His Messengers
The Day of Judgement
Divine Fate
And life after death
These tenants of faith are the foundation of my existence
So it’s no coincidence
That my presence is present
Sometimes something unpleasant
I’m nothing more than a mere sinner in the center of pure intentions
I renew each time I fall a victim to my desires and offer repentance
But I digress
Let’s not forget this is a conversation
This man asked me how I smile so big
And with the world’s hate as it is
Embody happiness
Hypnotizing on-lookers attention like I with his
I replied
You know it’s just the contentment having faith gives
Like how God mixed clay and water
And said “be and it is”
Blew soul into the body
Then said “be, and it is”
Adam was the first man to live
He said “be and it is”
Then created Eve from his ribs
And since we’re all children of his
I say we call a truce
We are the people of the book
So if you believe in God say, I do
We give birth to truth
Walk on faith like Jesus
Crush lies to pieces
The media can’t win over the power of the people
Religious or not, it’s about good and evil
So when I’m asked if I am forced to wear Hijab
I reply
Would you ask our Mother Mary was she forced to exemplify
self-preservation and class?
My cloak is a shield from the lustful eye and glance
And I do it with a smile because I understand my path
So my smile
My light
My joy
All come from the crown in my Hijab
Now hush all the noise, I’m trying to adjust my crown.
Looking back, what stands out to me isn’t just what I said in response, it’s also that he
asked, not in a confrontational way or to debate, but out of sheer curiosity. And oftentimes, I think that’s what’s missing in nowadays. People talk and post about Muslims all the time, but they rarely engage with us. It’s even more rare when they speak with the intention to carefully listen. Instead, it’s easier to rely on headlines, stereotypes, or whatever version of Islam gets packaged for public consumption. But real understanding doesn’t happen through those channels. It happens in small, everyday human interactions, in conversations where no one is performing or judging one another, rather, they are asking and responding.
This poem is my reminder that we don’t have to do what everyone else is doing or feel how
everyone else does. It’s also a reminder that my faith was never forced onto me. It’s something I grew into, something I questioned, studied, returned to, and chose over and over again. That nuance gets lost in the noise sometimes, especially when it comes to Muslim women. The assumption is always control, oppression and a lack of choices, but it never looks like conviction to anyone else.
To me, that is lazy thinking. The effort exerted in practicing Islam could not be
forced by anyone, at least not on a large scale, because it is a lifestyle. So, if there’s anything I’d want someone to take from this, especially during National Poetry Month, is this: Stories matter more than assumptions, and real voices could never be replaced by the media. We have to collectively stop accepting narratives built from the outside. Stop believing what others are saying about us, and start talking directly to us. This poem isn’t trying to convince anyone of anything, it’s just telling the truth about one moment, a mutual conversation and an explanation of what faith feels like from the inside. For me, it has been a beautiful and challenging experience, and maybe that’s enough, or maybe it’s just a place to start.
