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