Muslim For A Year





I couldn't understand the equation.

So against my father's wishes opened the pages of a book.

I read the Quran front to back twice in the two months before Ramadan and still didn't partake because I didn't feel worthy somehow.

My mother bought me foods that were halal.

I covered to my ankles and wrists to dress modestly.

My dad questioned my every move because I'm not Muslim.

I told him; "Daddy I cannot hold my ignorance like you. I know you don't want to listen but here, let me teach you."

I am not a quarter of the way through my journey of understanding and the questions I get are alarmingly condescending.

"Why would a strong girl choose a life of oppression?"

But I ask; Who's oppressed if I choose?

If I feel enlightened by what I read and I elect to obey it;

Who's to say I'm a lesser being?

When I pray before the sun awakes I fill with a sense knowing.

As if watching the colors paint the sky is Allah greeting me every morning.

I called this journey of mine 'Muslim for a Year' but I don't know when I'll be done searching.

One thing is for sure -

A fact in my mind -

That I can't understand how, with all the information we can touch today, we can possibly have another hate filled tomorrow.



Your poem is very eye opening.

Especially the ending, that very last sentence there.

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