A manger, a baby, a virgin,
A carpenter and three wise men
Two millennia hath passed in *Bethlehem.

Now in Sokoto,
Where the caliphate holds its sovereign seat.

I ponder, *Can the Subaltern Speak?
My question whispered through the academic community, a silent critique.

Boundaries like weeds,
Posing as unwarranted lines,
Still, there THEY stand, covering Truth within the academic walls.
Silently THEY endure,

_he asks
And who, pray tell, are the SUBALTERN?

The ONES that are not recognized but are present,
The ONES who are not allowed to speak
But are given the illusion that THEY BELONG
Shattered dreams in between.

Didn’t the seal of the *Nabī
Say he would complain against the
Oppressors of the People of the Book?
On the day of *Yawm al-qiyāmah,
Didn’t he?
© 독자 (Dokja)