السلام عليكم
وصلتني هذه القصيدة الرائعة و المعبرة فأحببت أن تقرأؤها معي :



I believe it is written by Saraji Umm Zayd.


From the day Khadija asked him
To marry her,
To the night she convinced
her husband that the revelation
was more than mere hallucination,
till the second she became
the first believer,
I have been more than you imagined.

From the time A?isha stood firm against slander,
to the moment she held her dying husband,
till the time when she was sought after
for her knowledge,
I have been more than you imagined.

From the flight to Medinah,
And the triumph at Makkah to
the triumph of more than a billion,
in fourteen hundred and twenty years,
I have never been so easy for you to figure out.

I am the Bosnian woman,
raped by Serb soldiers as
my husband is forced to look on,
and the world turns away.

The blood that runs from the bodies of
Algerian women
runs from me,
and stains the ground
for all humanity to see.

I am the woman on a Baghdad street corner,
begging journalists for a can of milk
so that I can feed my starving child.

I am the mother in Palestine,
mourning her eight year old son,
shot in the head by a soldier?s rubber bullet.

I am the Egyptian daughter
struggling to survive in a Cairo slum,
fighting the desert dust
that rises to choke the young.

I am the Indonesian woman
Sewing sneakers for the NBA
for the princely sum of $2 a day,
while restlessness burns the country around me.

I am the Iranian student,
sporting jeans and Mickey Mouse tee shirts
under my black chador, laughing and loving,
still recovering from an eight year war
that cost the lives of many men.

I am the sister, wife, daughter, and mother
to 700 million men.

I am all of my 700 million sisters,
and they are me.

I have always been more than
a terrorist?s helpmate.
I have always been more than
a veil or a scarf.
I have always been more than
one wife of many.
I have always been more than
a green card special.

In all of these myths,
I have always been voiceless,
when the truth is so much
louder.

I have never been that easy for you to
pin down,
yet I have never been the mystery that
you have created for me.

I am the warrior daughter of
Khadija, A?isha,
Maryam, and Nusaybah.

I am the mother of prophets,
the wife of khulafa,
the sister of shaheed.

I am the woman who wakes at dawn to face
Mecca in prayer,
bowing in submission only to The All Knowing.
I am fi jihad,
struggling daily to maintain
iman and identity,
to open the shut eyes of the world.

I am the woman who raises her voice
among men
to shout:
Takbeer!

Allahu Akbar!