My Not-so-Important Battle
Those mornings when dawn reminds you of stigma,
When a new day puts you out to the society for scrutiny,
When stepping out of your house is the beginning of your end;
They are irrelevant and uncalled for
Or so they tagged it.
For when you walk down the street on a knee-length short,
Eyes trailing behind, inform and beside you,
Not in admiration, but in judgement
Of an appearance that covers your most private and delicate part, but yet tagged indecent.
Yet it is irrelevant.
You have to wear the Jalamia,
Like an upcoming imam,
Even when you look like a clown, wear it and respect the society,
For that is the number one rule of the universe.
Anything asides it is improper and indecent.
For when you express your inner joy in dancing,
Not in front of your students, but away in your little private quarters,
The cry of this-is-the-north follows you.
Yes in the north, being happy and showing it is a crime.
Yet, my worry is irrelevant.
When exams come,
You destroy your principles just to make sure that them students pass,
Yes, it is the north and everything goes.