Masked men throw sledgehammers
At antiquated figures of
worship
Faces of historic pagan
idols
Turn to dust under metal fist
Drawing blood red anger
From fusty academics
Fenced into wooden
Ornate graven boxes
Decorated with ornaments
Of their useless
sentimentality:
Don’t forget, said ‘terrorist’ leader
History has no meaning
Art is narcissism
Leave the dead dead.
Sanctioned terror reigns
Bombs on deserts,
But who are our enemy?
Why do I feel empathetic,
Listening to this vandal?
What powers angers me
About society as it does
he?
Under hajab, or behind tie
We are all the same:
Fundamental in our needs
Arbitrary in our desires
Horrible in our
convictions.
Blood spills into the
corridors
Of museums,
Woman martyred for shielding
History from murderous
thieves.
Symbolic books,
Used to guide belief in death,
Now used to justify
destruction
Of marble and flesh.
On plastic western streets
Our fight is for a choice
From whom to seek
salvation
For when he who cares not
For sin or skin tone comes
His intentions will be
most honest
He will make dust of us
all.
So nail your colours to
the mast
And pick a text,
But it took me five weeks
To buy a coat I don’t
wear,
How long have I left to
choose
My saviour?
I wrote this after watching a documentary on Isis - the film focused on their desire to destroy old images/statues etc of anything which people had historically worshipped. Of course the film also hinted that they were selling pieces of plundered artwork to foreign collectors; thus making money of the people they publicly want to frighten by smashing up museums.
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