Forgive me if I wax a bit poetic today. There’s an itch in my fingers that can only be sated with a trip through poetry’s universe. It’s been quite some time since I last wrote here, so yes, this may seem a bit brash on my part. But there’s something quite unreal about this woman.

From the way your smallish breasts poke inelegantly from her button down shirts, to the crisp line in the crack between her soft lips form when she’s speaking, Hanifah Walidah has managed to impress me as something more than just a poet, more than just an activist. She is a woman who imparts her knowledge with nothing more than her presence.

Ms. Walidah is an entrancing spectacle. She’s completely unassuming, remarkably unremarkable. However, there’s something about the steady drumbeat of her voice, the sharp cadence in her hands, which has impressed me. From the moment I saw her I was instantly in love. Her movements were so simple, so human. Her attitude towards humanity was so warm and wholesome. She managed to encapsulate everything I wanted to learn about love and hand it to me in a package made of brown wax paper and soft string.