I can’t decide
Whether you are friendly or filthy.
I think I better hide
Behind my religion and my hijab.
Your thoughts are free, but filthy.
You need to be a friend. Not an intellectual slob.
I see you are a poet, but I also see
You drowned in fake creativity.
You say, “love the dog. The dog has dreams.”
The dog has fleas. Fleas on dogs have dreams.
Brown rivers work. You float on crystal streams.
Do not throw away my veil, these rules
Are God’s. The warship. The submarine.
Morality is guided by filthy versus clean.
One is clean and not always nice,
Or friendly and filthy. I am moral, twice.
First, I’m friendly. Second, I’m clean.
The political parties are divided so:
One cuts the grass. One allows the grass to grow.
But one still follows rules in the shadow.
The hijab hates filth. That’s because
When you are poor, filth stains what you love.
So the poor hate love; too much love
Brings too much filth, and too much filth
Teaches the poor to be clean.
Rich people are the most disgusting people I have ever seen.
They falsify filth. Rich people say, “Let the grass grow!
Friendliness is filthy!” But the proud, religious, middle class says: “No,
Filth is fleas and crime. You don’t know
Our suffering. You are arrogance, immured in dreams.”
“Oh learn to love the earth,” say the rich, “and her crystal streams.”