Easter Sunday blues 

Will do, for me, for you;

But not for the Christian people

Of Iraq

My father born an orphan

And now the state agrees

He is absent.

A holy mystery, to me.

My mother is a Christian

A witness

To the massacre of the Innocents

How did I know

That within two years

I would face death

Under similar circumstances

To those in Syria and Iraq

Who'd tried to fight back

Against the totalising ideology

Of a rampant Islamic sect

Who didn't see the children 

Celebrating Easter

But, instead, blew them into pink dust.

In the name of God.

The words are perfect and deep

You sow as you reap

You sow as you reap.

An unholy desert priest

In Palestine

Had these holy words

That are so tersely weirdly

Magically complete.