Shazia Ali - Poems

Shazia Ali is a Professor of English at Eastfield College in Dallas, Texas. Shazia was born in Karachi, Pakistan and spend her childhood in Dubai. As a teenager she returned to Karachi and worked there as a journalist for 3 years. She has been living in Dallas, TX for almost 17 years now. She received her Ph.D in Humanities and Literature from the University of Texas at Dallas and has been writing poetry and fiction for the past decade. She has been published in DFW Poets Anthology and Red River Literary Journal.  Shazia gives voice to the Asian-Muslim immigrant experience and the disparate identity crisis of every immigrant.

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                       The Color Yellow

 
That silly, bright color
Shining amongst the drabness
Of an ocean of colors.
It smiled at odd moments
And skipped through the paths
Of dull browns and gaudy reds.
It sparkled on the shiny cheeks
Of bashful, young brides.
It filled shattered homes
With a dash of joy
And a sprinkle of sunshine.
It bravely marched
Through darkened alleys
Between rioting mobs
And weeping families
As they rubbed their dead
With a blob of yellow
That silly, bright color. 

​                             I ask them
 
They ask me,
Where am I from?
Born in Asia, brought up in the Middle East,
Living in Texas
Calling myself American
Where am I from?
They ask me,
What is my language?
I dream in English, I cry in Urdu,
I spell “color” as “colour”
But I do not speak Arabic.
So, what is my language?
They ask me,
What is my religion?
I am a Muslim, who covers her hair,
Who smiles, laughs, and cries
And feels pain when impugn
Yes, my religion is Islam.
They ask me …
But I ask them,
Does my birth country
Make me a little less American?
The most years I have lived
Have been in the dry lands of Texas
Inhaling the scorching heat,
Walking barefoot on prickly grass.
I ask them,
Does my head gear
Change my language?
My words of love are spoken
In the same language as yours.
I have shed tears and lost words
When faced with pain like yours.
I ask them,
Does religion deform
And taint my soul?
I have prayed for peace
In days of terror.
I have asked God for help
In the stillness of foggy nights.
I ask them,
But they ask me again.