Call it a mystic tale of providence, or a manly quest
What woman is to modesty, an unwitting guest!
And it had to be, a calamity, at dusky sea, alas!
To be left alone in wilderness, with a Muslim lass
“Don’t eye; daren’t touch, I ain’t a woman such
Who’ll play to your man, second fiddle ever so much!”
An all-hijab, but hands and face, who won’t tell her name
I smiled at a towering child, “how a woman she became?”
The moon wasn’t something to gaze, for true moon was her face
The night had her mystique bared, when her full moon fell from grace
“Won’t Eid be tomorrow too, for tonight the blue moon shone?”
“You can’t sway a Muslim miss, whose Sharia written in stone!”
A prisoner to her virtue or faith, or a woman lost in past
I counted on, my profound routs, before…
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