By Novid Shaid, September, 2010

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There once was a dowdy Muslim

whose face looked clumsy and cold.

She would waddle down the street,

looking down at her feet,

covered up in flowing dark folds.

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When she trudged on through the markets

or stood in queue like a dull figurine,

the other women so dashing,

with bodies like mannequins,

considered her image obscene!

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There once was a dowdy Muslim,

whom the men and women thought glum.

“If I looked so poor

I’d lock myself indoors!

She most definitely has no fun!”

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This woman, she behaved so different,

wrapping her body, shying away from men.

When they peered at her dress,

they thought her oppressed:

“How old-fashioned! And so out of trend!”

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There once was a dowdy Muslim,

whom the world around misunderstood.

While the people from her town

gave her disapproving frowns,

in secret she wished them nothing but good.

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In the night when all were dozing,

she would rise and implore the skies.

Praying for security,

for her cruel community;

gentle tears flowing from her eyes.

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There once was a dowdy Muslim

whose neighbour was particularly mean,

so offended and repulsed

by this Muslim’s impulse

to obscure herself from being seen.

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This neighbour was a proud professional,

an aerobics queen, with a facelift.

She went out with a doc,

who made a living from Botox.

Every Friday they went out and got pissed.

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There once was a dowdy Muslim,

whose neighbour had a startling dream.

She witnessed her own fate

and awoke in a state,

letting off an ear-splitting scream!

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This neighbour dreamed she was standing

on a plain with the rest of the world.

Feeling like a silly kid,

she stood there stark naked,

but none noticed or even said a word.

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But as she stood and gazed around there,

someone caught her eye, standing so tall.

Beautiful as a pearl,

surrounded by whistling angels,

more delightful than a princess at a ball.

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Now the neighbour was extremely curious,

there was something so obvious and familiar.

So she left her place

from the rows of the human race;

the curiosity was nearly killing her.

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When she reached this towering individual,

angels turned to her, so surprised.

They looked at her, up and down

giving her ridiculing frowns:

“Why ever have you left your line?”

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“Excuse me, but do I know you?”

Gasped the neighbour, up to this glistening head.

When the figure turned its face,

the neighbour’s heart raced

and her spirit was engulfed with dread.

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For the figure was no other than the Muslim;

her neighbour, the sad, dowdy one.

Now she stood with such grace

pearls and jewels beautifying her face,

as if she were a chosen one.

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“Where on earth am I?” shouted the neighbour.

“Why am I here, and how come you are suddenly so fine?!”

“Truth has conquered falsehood,”

said the Muslim as she stood,

“inner beauty wins at the end of time.”

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Then the angels encircled and gambolled

with the Muslim, around and around.

Quick and gentle little sprites, weaving circles of light

Singing: “she’s the best in town!”

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“The best!” Woosh!! Woosh!!

“The best” Woosh!! Woosh!!

“The best in town!”

With a dance and a giggle

And waddle and wiggle,

The holy angels sang: “The best in town!!!”

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So, there once was a dowdy Muslim,

whom her people cackled:  “What a complete clown!”

But little did they know

of her deep, inner glow

as the hidden voices sang: “The best in town!!!”

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“She’s the best!” Woosh!! Woosh!!

“The best!” Woosh!! Woosh!!

“The best in town!”

With a dance and a giggle

And a waddle and a wiggle,

the holy angels sang: “The best in town!”