Your Name

My friend,
They asked you for your name
And you replied with the westernized version of it.
I asked why
And you replied that you were afraid.
Afraid?
Afraid their lips would stretch to a side
Making apparent their contempt for your name.
Their confusion.
Afraid they use their colloquial
And fit it into your name to mock it
After you left their presence.
Afraid your name would get you arrested.
Afraid your name would get you detained at an airport.
Afraid it would cause people to run away from you,
After realizing that you are not colonized.
Afraid your name would bruise their tongue.

My friend, you are too kind.

But this will not stop them from being ignorant about you and your origins.
This will not stop them from gossiping about you.
This will not stop them from saying
That the women in your homeland are oppressed
(they are forever bigoted in their opinions about you)

So tell them your name.
Roll your Rs.
Make audible its raspiness.
Say it slowly to embed it in their minds.
Tell them the story of how your name was inspired to your mother in a dream.
Tell them of your homeland.
Tell them a human life is more than their statistics.
Tell them that their social walls are too high
And that they lack the view of a horizon.
Tell them your people were pioneers in Mathematics, Engineering, Astronomy.
Tell them of Ibn Sina and how his philosophy affected modern theology.
Tell them about Fatima Al-Fihri; the founder of the oldest and still existing university.
Tell them about Bayt Al-Hikma; the intellectual center of Baghdad.

Tell them
Your name.