Salam Brother - Habiba El-Sadany

Salam, brother,

Please don’t shoot.

Please make sure you take off your boot.

I know you despise me for my religion,

But let me show you how it’s not what you may see on television.

You see, we gather in mosques five times a day,

But it’s always a little more special in the afternoon of Friday.

My boss excuses so I can come here and pray,

Even though he doesn’t believe in Allah.

With God lightening every step in my way,

I walk to the mosque beneath the gleam of the sun,

Holding the hand of my son,


We wear perfume and the best of our clothes,

And we stand in a row next to each other, real close.

We recite Ayaat about peace and justice,

And as the Imam utters each word with softness,

I think of the heaven of Firdaws,

And pray that right there, God would build me and my loved ones a house,

Where I would no longer feel any fear or shame,

Where no one would ever judge me for my Arabic name,

Where my mother’s Hijab would be respected,

Where my brother’s beard wouldn’t be rejected,

Where people wouldn’t make me feel uncomfortable yet also see me as a threat,

Where I wouldn’t be defined by crimes I didn’t commit,

Do you understand?

I need to spread my word,

Will you give me a hand?

Tell them not to be scared of me at the airport,

Tell them to stop thinking I’ll hurt them; I can’t.

Prophet Mohammed ordered me not cut down a tree even during war,

So won’t you at least leave the door ajar?

Won’t you give me the chance to show you who we really are?

Read the Quran,

Listen to the Imam as he recites the Adhan,

Drop your gun before you fill every Muslim’s heart with sorrow.

Drop your gun;

I want Abdullah to see tomorrow.

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