part oracle, part warrior

Aslam

a crescent moon, hangs like a scar

on her shoulder’s silence.

her lips sealed

by vow or violence.

her eyes do not ask.

they know.

they have watched empires bleed

on blades of their own lies.

she stands in gray,

spine unbent,

each scar a sentence

she never had to explain.

call it rebellion.

call it myth.

a woman

who no longer waits.

she is the ink and the echo,

the storm braided into calm.

you may look,

but you will not read her.

not everyone sees

what silence reveals.

so i offer you a line,

a voice shaped by defiance,

a presence drawn in truth.

let me speak for her,

since her lips are sealed:

she would not kneel.

she is here

for you to bow.

More from Aslam ↓

• @smmaslam on Instagram
• @aslammohammed on Substack
• His book, Paper Boat in Rumi’s Garden, is available now