A Catholic priest crucified
On Good Friday
Children blown to bits
Home to the Shalimar Gardens,
A piece of pink Heaven on the bloodyearth.
Built by the Mughals to celebrate God
In its marbled, mosaic mosques:
It celebrated the Hindus and the Buddhists
Who'd moved into the future
Keeping their close hold onto the past.
It celebrated the Christians and the Jews
Who were joined to the Muslims, as brothers,
As the peoples of the book.
Not the devils of savagery, mass graves and beheadings
All the narrow cruelties of the Salafist Wahhabis
Who believe that heaven is only to be found between the pages of a closed book.
Come, come, instead and look at the Calat Alhambra
Described by the Moorish poets as a pearl set in emeralds
Built whilst, we, in Northern Europe laboured to turn a sod.
The Alameda de la Alhambra, so full of wild flowers,
Roses, oranges and myrtles. Filled with the songs
Of nightingales, the music of streams and cascades;
A very heaven built by these majestic Muslim Moors