To Some Western Man

I'm not harem in a sultan's farm.

 And I hide no enchanting charm,

no oasis for your burning sand,

no magical world, no far never-land.

My brown eyes have not that spell.

They, just like yours, observe life well.

 Through them I can see the true.

Are you su'prised? I read books too!!!

Guess what's in this covering veil?

A free girl like Sue and Keil.

I choose what to believe and wear.

To what you think I do not care.

I have, like you, a reflecting brain,

or maybe more, since I'm still sane.

Eastern dream is in your head.

You're having it on a western bed.

Orient is your fake mirage,

 another part for your collage.

Nothing is called 'superior race'.

This sick thought you must erase.

East and West is senseless claim.

Though we are different, we are same.

There's one Salma lives in Sham.

When she speaks, she says 'I am'.

As, also, among all western names,

there's one Jose lived once in Spain.

The 'I' enhances time and place.

 Each one's unique, you can't replace.

Either we talk as equal souls,

or I don't see your being at all.

Salma

25/1/2006