Miss Water Body – a poem

Miss Water Body – a poem

by Aryanna Alikhan  


She dances with the wind,

Whirls and whooshes as the tide begins to rise,

Her power becomes like a woman with a million electrolytes.

She’s indestructible,

But her babies always in danger,

When Man pollutes her mind with toxins

And poisonous pollutants of their crimes.

Undisturbed by the damage,

The men continue to build,

And they encaptivate her in prison walls

Called dams.

Her babies begin to sink,

They begin to drown,

She begins to rise but by becoming a prisoner

In the eyes

Of men of the Americas.

How can she escape when toxic masculinity

Gives them power to define

Her future.

To strip her bare,

 of her energy, wisdom, and power,

For hydroelectricity and industrial needs.

Feeding them exactly what they need

For profit and to feed

Their homes with whatever they need.

Their wants exceed their needs,

Demand exceeds the supply that she can supply,

Taking away everything that she needs

To survive.

One at a time

Murdering her babies and cutting her at her knees,

The only thing she asks is “please save my babies”.

The salmon of her rivers,

To her friends along the side.

The trees

That require her

To feed

On the fertilized soil

That she provides.

She is the river,

She is the sea,

She is the ocean across the planet,

That the men think they lead.

She is Miss Waterbody.

Under colonization,

She is held prisoner,

Surrounded by walls,

Or littering souls,

Constantly her body is being defamed

by a black gooey substance called crude oil

Left on her for eternity,


Being harassed,

The men of war continue to attack.

Her only plea

Is “please save my babies!”

This poem was written by Aryanna Alikhan

An Ode to My Hijab

An Ode to My Hijab

by Aryanna Alikhan  


At the age of 7, I took my aunt’s cashmere scarf and continued to wrap it around the world of my head,

Day One: All the baby hairs showing

Day two: transformed into a tighter tangle of the hair, the ringlets flattened as the pressure continued.

Day Three: I gave up the effort

Day Three-Sixty-Five: was me going to the market to buy a hundred types of cashmere colourful scarves,

I continue the ritual of the daily namaz as I gently kneel and place my forehead onto the ground of the mat painted with an antique gold of the Kabah in Mecca.

The cashmere became a symbol of heaven,
daily routine,
and a devoted faith to whomever the One I prayed towards.

A simple, delicate, warm and light scarf managed to transform the way my movement and momentum of life flowed towards.

7759 days later, and the gratitude has become a multitude of daily confidence, daily reminders and daily serenity from my body to my mind to my soul.

The world looks at this beautiful act of Hijab as a terror,
but they have carved a mind through the social world that media portrays,
without seeing the way that we actually practice it.

The true meaning and purpose of a scarf covering every ringlet on our head is devotion.

It is empowerment. It is trust. It is faith. It is a unity of women.

This poem was written by Aryanna Alikhan