Mother: A Rebel
Mother: A Rebel
If it rains in Jerusalem, you'll
Want to know because the holy
Met Abrahamic religion met on
The land. Mother was cloaked in a
Creamy white shawl, coal-black
Suit, golden pendant
And tiny flowered earrings.
She kissed a boy under the sunlight, on the
Garden mud, left to the rosemary.
She was fourteen and wanted gallant falls
To fear her reign.
The Country fed young girls
A reminder they remembered through their
Fourteens: The Marriage at youth and
A family by sixteen.
Mother used to lock
Her room behind grandpa,
Cry beside the mahogany bed
But nobody heard her.
Nobody wanted to hear her.
Countries were deaf to its crowd.
Mother wanted to become a rebel
The country would kneel down for.
She wanted to exercise sovereignty,
Authority and a regnal name followed not by
A regnal number.
She wanted to be the one.
Mother wanted to become a sultan.
She chastised her peachy frock layered with
Cute pink floral designs.
Mother learnt to ride a bicycle but hated when
The shine turned into a valid rust.
Grandpa tells me that she was married
At twenty-six and in the city,
Mother wasn't among women
Who were married by fourteen.
Women then were prisoned behind
Damp curtains forever soaking salty tears
More than heavy rain.
Women then kept away from being
Able to talk about pride,
But talked mostly about dignity
Between their thighs.
All the three kids or
Two they had went to local schools,
And if about girls,
They were being prepared by then
For a life to shelter in her womb.
Mother was a wide-ranging insurgent,
Revolting for the hunger in her
Stomach.
Her stomach wanted a
Revolution to be fed upon, a rebel
To stand for.
Sometimes, I think God
Is the sound of mother's daily namaz,
Her only fear of the heaven and literally
Nothing else.
Her caramel-colored hands
Burnishes gilt on the face of education.
Her fingerprints searing the notches
Of a bowstring that will soon strangle
Culture in a blue midnight.
Jerusalem is a thicket of purple thorns,
Awaiting another women to prey upon.
Mother wasn't one,
I would never be
Another. But
Women
Must
Rise
Like
My mother.
Because like many,
She never let country sing a 'no' for her.
She did that herself.