Beware Of Me, I'm A Youth!
I'm an individual muslim youth. I stand clean of what others follow blindly, like sheep. I do not fit in, I stand out. I hold up the flag of Islam high and proud, grinning from ear to ear as it flaps in the wind for the whole world to see. Call me terrorist if they like. See if I care. I can't even hold a gun straight.
I'm a youth. A youngster in this turmoil called life. Where temptations surround me and evils lurk in every corner. But I stand with my steel of Imaan, sticking out my tongue and pulling faces at the vices that try to sneak up to me. Like they'll ever get past.
That boy thinks I'm pretty. I ask him how many girls he said that to. He is speechless. I asked if my beauty is so great it makes him mute, and he cannot respond. He wants my number. I give him the number to hell. And tell him the devil has free communication.
That girl thinks I'm weird. I think she's boring.
They say my cloak is a bin-bag. And then I look up at their cheap bodies, their cleavage on sale, open for all the guys to comment, and I shake my head sympathetically and turn away. I won't respond, they're just ill-guided.
They laugh at the veil, ask why I'm hiding my face. I say, take off your make-up and we'll talk.
This is who I am. Accept it or get a life. I'm a youth. I want to see my Prophet grinning proudly at me, I want him not to curse and turn away from me. But I want him to know exactly who I am and what I went through for the religion he brought to us. I want him to tell everyone 'you see? Look at my Ummah. These were the few, powerful flag-bearers of the most difficult times. Of the time when everyone went astray. They held fast. They held fast and they never let go.' This is what I can bring forth. This is my tiny back up. This is my Jihaad in the path of Allah. I am fighting for my Islam, fighting and never planning to back down.