This poem is shortlisted for the BN Poetry Award.

 

Suicide Bomber, Suicide Bomber,
With Death strapped to your chest like a lover,
Death nestled at your back like a baby
Or Death sitting with you like a passenger-ally,
With eyes that mirror the burning embers of hell,
And a heart of refuse, full of scorpions, ready to venom-shell.

Suicide Bomber, Suicide Bomber,
You who hate multitude and number,
Who have no regard for the sanctity of human life.
What evil has gripped you so, that you bomb children and husband and wife?
Have you no regard for your own miserable and endangered life?
If you haven’t, what of the legion of lives you smash to pieces upon your life?

Suicide Bomber, Suicide Bomber, man-like in nature,
Maybe the Devil himself has changed your good nature
And made you to believe in the Utopian Seven Virgins of heaven.
May you be reminded that there is no marriage-heaven,
For those who refuse to gather but scatter and batter
Are doomed to suffer the pangs of death in hell’s crater.

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