The ruins of Nineveh
Those soaring metaphors drawn from the earth and sea,
Such rich biblical language of baptism and burial and birth,
Blossom and harvest, wise ones, holy fools, prophets.
From the lips of children we must learn that clinging to life
Is not sufficient: the worried well can very easily go to hell.
Smoke over Mosul. Mosul’s churches burning where once
The Jacobite heart of Christian belief was celebrated
Amongst the ruins of Nineveh, along the same paths
The Jews took their synagogue. The Prophet Zoroaster spoke
Only of love 3500 years ago. Today Zoroaster’s sons and daughters
Are buried all around Mosul. These Yezedi dead are a vestige
Of a different way: not 'people of the book', not sons of Abraham,
But children of the sun subject to slaughter from the death-cult
Whabbi-Salafist-devils come to satiate their blood lust and cruelty.
Trace the path (Daesh) back to its (Whabbi) source:
This nest of vipers, squatting in the raging sands,
Fixed enemies of the enquiring mind, divorced
From common humanity's simple demand, to love
Your neighbour as yourself.