In Letters to My Son, Muslim Reformer Shireen Qudosi tells the story of how hate, racism and wars are born.
And He Loved Them
A crowd of people people loomed in Dark so near.
Hatred and fear veiled their eyes.
A void these people had become,
nothing to them but the beat of someone else’s drum.
They themselves were nowt but vessels possessed,
possessed by something powerful indeed –
A human history of hate, a vile cancerous seed.
Shouts and screams and arms they bore,
as the Devil before them grew to be.
He stood before them as plain to see,
as you and I and he and she.
And not a word he said, not a thing he did
But still the people prepared to stain him.
With anger and hate they began to kill,
Stones they threw as he stood still.
All the hatred for him, as they were taught to see,
now began to manifest in a strange scene.
And not a word he said, not a thing he did,
But still the people struck to stain him.
Dead, he died as he was killed,
His blood a stain upon them, they who killed him.
The devil not he, but those now stained,
As humanity falls in painful wails.
He rose up once more with life anew,
In a garden of rose and dew.
There a dreamy haze over the eyes of those who slay.
No longer with hate born of word-play.
He saw them innocent as children, clothed in white.
Free and pure as holy light.
He knew what they were is not what they are.
In truth, they are beautiful innocents now in a land afar.
And he fell in love with all of them,
even though moments before they were all in a Hell.
Category: LETTERS TO MY SON