What an Honour, This is Hijab

Metal under your chin, still wincing from the prick of the pin,
Adjust and re-adjust, paranoid about getting it right,
You just can’t stand one strand being in sight.
This is hijab.

Not too small or you will not be covered properly,
Not too thin or else it could be seen through easily,
Not too bright or you could be accused of impropriety.
This is hijab.

But the vigilance does not stop at the hair- there is more that follows,
It also applies to the ear, as every good hijabi knows,
And of course the neck must not be exposed.
This is hijab.

It is irrelevant whether you are wrapped in cotton or silk or wool,
When it’s 30 degrees no material can make you feel cool,
Rather, you feel like the perspiration could accumulate into a pool.
This is hijab.

Oh and the ridicule; the mocking; the jest,
At school and elsewhere, you face the same test,
You convince yourself that you are blessed-that this is the sacrifice of an empress.
This is hijab.

And my words may try but the experience they cannot accurately reflect,
Keep your opinions to yourself, your petty judgments I reject,
You may think you understand but you know nothing with all due respect..
I Live hijab.

And I do it with a passion for His Pleasure, a yearning for His Grace,
On the day when I meet Him, I want to see contentment on His Face,
I desire the coolness of his shade, so I feel the heat now,
I daydream of His love, as I wipe the sweat from my brow.
hijab.

And it is an intimate issue, a personal matter between three:
Me, my hijab and the Almighty.
I love my hijab, so He loves me;
And as this cycle repeats, it increases in intensity.
Until my hijab becomes part of my identity,
I become worthy of piety
And His love becomes everything to me.