The Jihadist
( With apologies to Rupert Brooke ) If I should die, think only this of me That there's some corner of a foreign field That is forever ISIS. There shall be In oil-rich earth a thicker dust concealed A dust whom England bore, taught, made aware Gave, once, her music to hate, her ways bemoan, A body of England's, breathing English air, Bored by the telly, hooked on a mobile phone. And think, this heart, all evil given sway A holy warrior on beheading bent, Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given, Of Western crimes, and Islam's coming day, And hatred, learnt online, and discontent, And doe-eyed houris waiting me in heaven
