To the sound of birds,
She rises from beneath the cotton sheets,
The call of the Mu'azzin having heard,
Her Lord, she's ready to meet,
She fixes her hijab,
Making sure no strand of hair remains loose,
Her abaya draped over her,
With her hijab around her neck she forms a noose,
Standing on the Musallah,
Having performed her Wudhu,
She begins with Bismillah,
To the ground, her eyes glued,
How beautiful she feels standing before her Master,
Nothing can be seen,
But the smile on her face which is plastered,
Her salah coming to an end, she feels serene,
Ready for the day ahead,
Nothing can cause her grief,
Energy boosted by Salatul Fajr,
She finishes with some Zhikr,
Nearly ready to attend her work place,
Gloves slipped on to her fingers,
Her veil draped across her face,
She leaves her home with the name of her Lord,
As she waits at the bus stop,
The eyes of people in her direction glare,
As she steps on to the bus,
She decides to ascend the stairs,
On her way up,
Contemptuous remarks are flung,
To their hostile behaviour,
She vows not to succumb,
Upstairs she finds empty seats,
She sits down with a sense of relief,
Having escaped from peering eyes,
Their scathing beliefs,
She asks herself,
What do they perceive?
What is so horrid about myself, that makes them pree?
I show them nothing,
And they show me hatred,
But I know in the sight of my Lord,
My dress sense is beloved,
So why should I care if they don't like me?
I won't give in to their scrutiny,
I dress for Allah and if that pleases Him,
I don't need to live to fulfill every desire and whim,
In the public eye,
I may be considered oppressed,
But my emaan rises high,
When my sense of dress is modest.
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You can drop yours too.

nairaland.com/islam

You've forgotten to add the aspect of hiding bomb under the Hijab?