“What do you see when you think of me,
A figure cloaked in mystery
With eyes downcast and hair covered,
An oppressed woman yet to be discovered?
Do you see backward nations and swirling sand,
Humpbacked camels and the domineering man?
Whirling veils and terrorists
Or maybe fanatic fundamentalists?
Do you see scorn and hatred locked
Within my eyes and soul,
Or perhaps a profound ignorance of all the world as a whole?
Yet . . .
You fail to see
The dignified persona
Of a woman wrapped in maturity.
The scarf on my head
Does not cover my brain.
I think, I speak, but still you refrain
From accepting my ideals, my type of dress,
You refuse to believe
That I am not oppressed.
So the question remains:
What do I see when I think of you?
I see another human being
Who doesn’t have a clue.”