Islam · poetry

The Departure Gate

Baby-faced. 
Snatched through the departure gate.
On an adventure,
to Dar Al-Islam.
Like the Call of Duty,
to play with guns and maybe a bomb.
Just like a game,
he was assigned a new name.
Abu Hussain Al-Britani,
was his new title -
that he was given,
along with a rifle.
A cub of the caliphate,
A fighter of the Islamic state.

His heart became hard…
could it have been that time?
He played soccer in the yard -
with a decapitated head -
of one who'd rebelled.
Or was it that time at home?
He was told -
he could slash the neck of a goat.
Or the time his imam?
said one day,
INSHALLAH!
he would do jihad.
To fulfil his duty,
and gain a share,
of the muhajideen booty.
Or for the ultimate sacrifice,
for his guaranteed place -
in paradise.

Lined up in boiler suits,
it was said they were in cahoots -
just like in the Qur'an,
the ones who rejected Allah's command. 
The pleas and begging dismissed,
lives snuffed out - 
he had that bloodlust.
Just like with the goat,
when he hacked at its throat.
Beaming smile and a sparkle in his eyes, 
he had fulfilled the command -
to dispatch those who deny.

The grip on Raqqa had weakened,
it was now time -
to go back to Britain…

They said.
He was forced!
Let him come back!
Even though,
he'd been trained to attack!

They said,
Love and rehabilitation,
that's the way!
They would soon find out -
the price they would pay...

Back in school,
he never rejected Allah's rules.
He put on the vest,
this one designed -
to terrorize the West.

ALLAHU AKBAR!
To kill the Unbelievers -
is fard!
That was the command.
What was it about that -
you didn't understand?

It resembled the blitz,
was it really worth the risk?
All the children - 
bloodied-
and bodies broken.
Snatched away... 
Baby-faced,
Just like the boy -
at the departure gate.

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