International Women's Day......

[HELWAA]

Aslam aleykum sisters


Ladies......today is our day...8-3-07....let celebrate it with poems...with love and encourgment words to eachother



I love this poem so i'm gonna start the thread with it



THE MUSLIM WOMAN 'UNVEILED'

by Izdehar Albowyha

You look at me and call me oppressed,
Simply because of the way I'm dressed,
You know me not for what's inside,
You judge the clothing I wear with pride,
My body's not for your eyes to hold,
You must speak to my mind, not my feminine mold,
I'm an individual, I'm no mans slave,
It's Allahs pleasure that I only crave,
I have a voice so I will be heard,
For in my heart I carry His word,
"O ye women, wrap close your cloak,
So you won't be bothered by ignorant folk",
Man doesn't tell me to dress this way,
It's a Law from God that I obey,
Oppressed is something I'm truly NOT,
For liberation is what I've got,
It was given to me many years ago,
With the right to prosper, the right to grow,
I can climb moutains or cross the seas,
Expand my mind in all degrees,
For God Himself gave us LIB-ER-TY,
When He sent Islam,
To You and Me!

sisters.........the thread is urs..post whatever you like....but i have one rule...BE NICE TO EACHOTHER

[HELWAA]

I love this poem to by Maya Angelou


Still i will rise


You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame - I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain - I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear - I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear - I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

[HELWAA]

Sisters our life it's not easy on this earth........sometimes it feels LIKE the MEN ARE THOSE Have everything but we are....the mothers....the daughters....the sisters....the nurses......THE WORLD CAN'T LIV WITHOUT US.


SO WHENEVER YOU FEEL DOWN....OR SAD.....OR JUST CANT GO ON ANY MORE...........REMEMBER.......


Remember Just Remember


When things are down
And you are out of your mind
Remember just remember

Allah is The Kind.


When your life is in darkness
And nothing is right
Remember just remember

Through the darkness Allah is The Light.


When nothing makes sense
And your heading for demise
Remember just remember

It doesn't make sense, but Allah is The Wise.


When times are troubled
And no one seems to care
Remember just remember

Allah won't hurt you, He is The Fair.


When your heart is breaking
And your pain makes you fall
Remember just remember

Allah Sees it all.


When you are weak
And the road seems long
Remember just remember

Seek strength from The Strong.


When life is a burden
And everything is unstable
Remember just remember

Allah is The Able.


When the way is cloudy
And there is no one by your side
Remember just remember

Allah is The Only Guide.


When no one wants to listen
Or is willing to lend an ear
Remember just remember

Allah is always ready to hear.


When you are poor and penniless
And you are stuck in a niche
Remember just remember

Allah is The Rich.

[Osman]

"THE WORLD CAN'T LIV WITHOUT US"

Yessir, no doubt about that.

[HELWAA]

yes Osman.............indeed......we are the world




TO WESTERN WOMEN
by Aisha


When you look at me
all you can see
Is the scarf that covers my hair
My word you can't hear
Because you're too full of fear,
Mouth gaping, all you do is stare.
You think it's not my own choice,
In your own "liberation" you rejoice.
You're so thankful that you're not me.
think I'm uneducated,
Trapped, oppressed and subjugated.
You're so thankful that you are free.

But Western women you've got it wrong-
You're the weak and i'm the strong,
For I've rejected the trap of man.
Fancy clothes- low neck, short skirt,
These are devices for pain and hurt,
Always jumping to the male agenda,
Competing on his terms.
No job share, no baby-sitting facilities,
No feeding and diaper-changing amenities.
No equal pay for equal skill-
Your job they can always fill.
Is this liberation?
A person with ideas and thought,
I'm not for sale, I can't be bought.
I won't decorate anyone's arm,
Nor be promoted for my charm.
There's more to me than playing coy.
Living life as a balancing game- mother,
Daughter, wife, nurse, cleaner, cook, lover-
And still bring home a wage.
Who thought up this modern "freedom"
Where man can love'em and man can leave 'em.
This is not free but life in a cage.
Western women you can have your life.
Mine- it has less strife.
I cover and I get respected
Surely that's to be expected-
For I won't demean the feminine
I won't live to a male criterion.
I dance to my own tune,
And I hope you see this very soon,
For your own sake- wake up and use your sight!
Are you so sure that you are right?

[HELWAA]

MY SHADE
by Khadija Javed

You wonder what my shade is,
What it represents.
Call me anything;
An extremist, a fundamentalist,
Anything you desire.
I don't care.


My shade is
My protection
from this evil world,
from roaming eyes,
from diseased hearts.
Call me anything;
Vain or Submissive.
I don't care.


My shade is
My Protection
of my beauty,
reserved for one
special gift
that God has given me;
My Life Partner.


This world
is but a fleeting moment
about to end
at Any Time.
The Signs are here.
The Day of Judgement is coming.
No one will enter my grave with me except
My body, my heart, my soul.


Call me a pessimist,
Distressed,
Repressed,
Oppressed,
I don't care.


My shade
Covers me
Like a tree from the sun;
Like a coat of wax
on your shiny new sportscar.


My shade
My protection,
is my Khimaar,
I am a woman of Islaam.

Yes we are the women of islam and we are proud of it

[HELWAA]

This poem is powerful


'Baby it's all good'
by a young muslim American woman

What do you see when you look at me
Do you see someone limited, or someone free

All some people can do is just look and stare
Simply because they can't see my hair

Others think I am controlled and uneducated
They think that I am limited and un-liberated

They are so thankful that they are not me
Because they would like to remain 'free'

Well free isn't exactly the word I would've used
Describing women who are cheated on and abused

They think that I do not have opinions or voice
They think that being hooded isn't my choice

They think that the hood makes me look caged
That my husband or dad are totally outraged

All they can do is look at me in fear
And in my eye there is a tear

Not because I have been stared at or made fun of
But because people are ignoring the one up above

On the day of judgment they will be the fools
Because they were too ashamed to play by their own rules

Maybe the guys won't think I am a cutie
But at least I am filled with more inner beauty

See I have declined from being a guy's toy
Because I won't let myself be controlled by a boy

Real men are able to appreciate my mind
And aren't busy looking at my behind

Hooded girls are the ones really helping the Muslim cause
The role that we play definitely deserves applause

I will be recognized because I am smart and bright
And because some people are inspired by my sight

The smart ones are attracted by my tranquility
In the back of their mind they wish they were me

We have the strength to do what we think is right
Even if it means putting up a life long fight

You see we're not controlled by a mini skirt and tight shirt
We are given only respect, and never treated like dirt

So you see, we are the ones that are free and liberated
We're not the ones that are sexually terrorized and violated

We are the ones that are free and pure
We're free of STDs that have no cure

So when people ask you how you feel about tha hood
Just sum it up by saying 'baby it's all good'

[HELWAA]

Muslim Women Aren't to Be Servants



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FlwgxPEo ... ed&search=



so all of you men who want a jaaryaa.........you can hire one

[HELWAA]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aAqVdqFU ... ed&search=


Be proud

[HELWAA]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RhCsZC8z5_8



Indeed we are free

[Zabibta]

Wow! Thoz r deep!! Lovely.
Wlkm slm Helwaa and thank you for thinkin of this!!!

Here's a Great article on the politics of women's bodies.

WEARING THE HIJAB: CHOICE OR SUBMISSION?
I AM NOT ASKING FOR YOUR APPROVAL

Kameelah Janan Rasheed

'The concern is not my oppression, but the inaccessibility of hijabi
bodies and a general discomfort with those who have no problems with visible signs of cultural and religious difference', writes Kameelah
Janan Rasheed in recounting her personal experience of wearing the
hijab.

I have spun myself into a web of non-stop, albeit non-linear,
intertextual journeys and discursive shadow boxing matches towards a coherent narrative about hijab. I feared that in writing about hijab that my thoughts would be so reminiscent of previous works, that my narrative would be surrendered to the museum of embalmed anachronisms and clichés. This fear kept me running as far as my short legs could carry me away from the oppression versus liberation paradigm, and hiding in a dark corner away from self-hating confessionals about the ugliness of Islam.

I am not interested in proving to anyone that I am in fact liberated
or that by wearing hijab in America I am engaging in a radical
feminist act. Just as I gave up the task of proving my blackness or
womanhood years ago to those who were skeptical of my 'credentials', I do not plan to spend time here validating my humanity or agency. Such a task is a distraction. The task here is not to shuck n'jive or discursively gyrate towards a presentation of hijab and myself that will grant me entrance into the feminist or 'mainstream' community. I do not want to spend time convincing people that in fact my hijab is not surgically attached to my scalp.

Nor, do I want to spend energy arguing that there is not a tracker
embedded in my hijab that screeches a pronounced 'haraam, haraam'
when there is too great of a distance between the said hijab and my
head. The task here is to share stories that if nothing else will
illustrate that self-elected liberators who are convinced of my
oppression are doing more to oppress me than my hijab ever could by
fixing me in conceptual incarcerations. In telling me that as a
hijabi, I can only represent and ever be seen as the epitome of
oppression - the atavistic aberration, then you have succeeded in
reifying the patriarchal structures you pretend to despise. You have
held me hostage in your imagination and my only key to freedom is to
surrender and corroborate your assumptions of my subjugation.

If I tell you that I am comfortable as a hijabi, and do not feel the
least restricted, why do you still feel the need to speak down to me
as if I am a child? Why do you feel the need to convince that I am
living in a matrix where I have managed to confuse liberation with
oppression? The question has never been so much 'is Kameelah
oppressed'? because when this question is asked I do not believe that there is a genuine concern for my wellbeing. The question has always been twofold: 'Why do you feel it to be your right to tell me how I should live my life? And: 'Why do you even care?' My experiences, that are mine and not to be generalised for other hijabis, have illustrated that the concern is not my oppression, but the inaccessibility of hijabi bodies and a general discomfort with those who have no problems with visible signs of cultural and religious difference.

My childhood and adulthood, neither of which are completed life
stages, were full of paradox and alienation as I attempted to
navigate what seemed to be rough uncharted territory of a nerdy short black Muslim girl suspended in time and spaces that just could not 'figure me out'. I am the daughter of two black working-class Muslim reverts. I grew up in a small city in northern California where you could count the number of Muslims on one hand. Because being starred at and having rude comments directed at me is a sadistic task I rather enjoy, I then spent four years at a private Catholic school where I was not only one of very few black students, I wandered about as the only Muslim student. Thinking it could not get worst then being called a suicide bomber, or Osama bin Laden's wife, I embarked on another four-year journey at a private liberal arts institution where the number of Muslim students was heartbreaking. While most comments at this institution were reserved for private discussions, the college experience as well as my time in Johannesburg, South Africa provide an opportunity to understand what literally annoyed people about my hijab.

While in Yeoville, a hybrid inner-city/suburb of Johannesburg, I was
approached by a man who was intent on liberating me from not only my gender oppression, but from my racial confusion. Apparently, 'I am not free' in hijab and Islam is not an African religion.

I had committed not only the ultimate sin of embracing a faith that
'forced' me to be modest; I had chosen a faith that had no roots in
Africa. Let's not bother with the contrary historical facts, as that
is the least of our concerns. What I found of the utmost importance
in this monologue (yes, because I was unable to get a word in
edgeways) was that he conceptualised my channels of freedom via the ritualistic removal of my hijab and his penetration or sexual
conquest. I never knew that my freedom toolbox included a penis and an instruction guide - I will keep this in mind.

As he continued to speak in a series of poorly phrased insults, I
realised that this was no longer about gender oppression or black
authenticity; it was about the politics of accessibility to certain
bodies. He repeated almost in a hypnotic fashion, 'I cannot see
you…I cannot see your essence'. In wearing hijab, it was his argument that I was making myself inaccessible to men, and particularly to him.
Choosing to place myself off the radar was not a choice I could
exercise. In fact, I was required to make myself available and
accessible to his gaze as well as the gaze of other men.

Thus, the crime I had committed was not one of accepting my
subjugation as a Muslim woman and 'confused African woman', but of
refusing to situate myself in his myopic discourse of liberation that
ultimately puts me at his mercy. If I was mistaken in this
assumption, it was further validated by a number of men in
Johannesburg and in America who have told me similar tales of my
inaccessibility, as a reason why I should not wear hijab. They
started with a narrative of genuine concern for my oppression and
devolved into a shallow desire for a free pass to accessibility. It
was not always about what was said, but the delivery of these
diatribes. In many of these situations, these men used aggressive and paternalistic tones. They attempted to silence me by raising their voices. They worked to discredit my line of defense by telling me I did not know enough. Most of all they were surprised that I was able to put together a sentence and to give as good as I was given.

It was a reminder that the covering of my head is not a covering of
my mind or my mouth. Now, my mama taught me that in a conversation that I need to speak up irrespective of the genitalia I assume the other person to possess. My dad taught me to do it with tact. I think that while I am better at the former than the latter, it was a necessary lesson. For me, this battle over hijab editorialised by patriarchal not feminist discourses has never been about my liberation or the liberation of Fatima or whatever common Muslimah name you choose to insert here. Really, can men and institutions that consider me less intelligent and inept be that concerned about the death of patriarchy? This battle has always been about the accessibility of certain bodies and a neurotic discomfort with difference. If I can be convinced or forced to unveil and assimilate my discourse and lifestyle someone else can feel comfort. Someone will assume greater access to my body. However, for someone else to feel comfort when they look at me, and secure greater dominion over me, some part of me has to be sacrificed.

I cannot make any conclusive remarks about hijab generally or in my
personal experiences. What I can say is that as these discourses
about my oppression reach a nauseous height and hegemonic
preoccupation in numerous imaginations, I will continue to write. I
will not write to prove my liberation, but write to assert my right
to exist as I choose without harassment, intimidation and ridicule.
People often say, 'well, if you don't want to be singled-out then
just don't wear hijab'. I guess while I am at it, I should lighten my
brown skin to reach a more appeasing colour? Or give my hips back to mama. Assimilation is not an option. The reality is that, yes, I wear hijab and no, I do not need your approval. While I do not need your approval, I would not mind a little respect.

Keep 'em comin sisters...Lets celebrate!!

[HELWAA]

ooh thank you sis......Zabiba.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UNXMxaXClJI&NR




keep it coming............this is our day

[musika man]

^^^^^

in this world, everyday you women drive us men crazy, and now you have your own day licensed and legalised to talk, belittle, humiliate and cuss us men? 3ajiib. we demand a man's day or boycot women's day. we can't live with and without you. my sister bores me to death when talks about women's rights like am a saudi, lamagodley nomadic somali or a mormon dude. female mothers raised us all, dont blame us men of your shortcomings. deal with us without an accepted day cussing us men. women's day is a weird and bad concept, they dirve us men crazy everyday. that is what makes our-men lives sweet. good mothers raise god sons who don't want to mistreat their children's mother, and pass it to their children through practice.

e! happy women's day my sweetie. a red rose only for you.

[HELWAA]

Abu Hurayra reported that the Messenger of Allah, may Allah bless him and grant him peace, said, "Treat women well. Woman was created from a rib. The most crooked part of the rib is the top part. If you try to straighten it, you will break it. If you leave it, it remains crooked. So treat women well."


csw

[HELWAA]

Abu Hurayra reported that the Messenger of Allah, may Allah bless him and grant him peace, said, "A believing man should not hate a believing woman. If he dislikes something in her character, he should be pleased with some other ­ or another­ trait of hers." [Muslim]



csw