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Ruins of Nineveh
Poetry
Those rich metaphors drawn from the sky and sea
Rich funereal language, baptism, burial, birth,
Blossom and harvest, wise ones, Witan’s children.
From the lips of children we learn that clinging
To life is not enough
Smoke over Mosul. Mosul’s churches, where once
The Jacobite heart of Christian belief was celebrated,
Among the ruins of Nineveh along the same back paths
Alleys that the Jews took to the synagogue,
Which had been there since the Prophet Zoroaster
3500 years ago.
Today Zoroaster’s sons and daughters
Are buried all around Mosul.
These Ezedi dead are a vestige
Of a different way. On them
Those Daesh-devils sought to satiate their sin.
Yezedi virgins burnt alive in iron ages
Girls raped, sold in the slave markets of Mosul,
Old people buried alive.
Trace the infected stream back to its source
This nest of vipers
Of Wahhabism.
Saudi Arabia. Look! You’ll find it there.
These enemies of Voltaire
Contaminate the very air.
