A Terrorist's Last Prayer

Five thousand spirits, at two fell strokes,
Are from their bodies unsewn,
At which a throng of angels descend
And souls to their fates are flown.

Among them are 19 zealots
Professing the cause of Islam,
Smiling broadly in an enclave
Rejoicing at New York’s harm.

"To Paradise! To Paradise!
O brothers we are bound,
Soon to see the face of Allah
And receive our martyr’s crown.

"Strange that the angels seem to be
Retrieving this heathen crowd.
They must be leaving us to God Himself
To fetch with trumpet loud.

"Brothers we’re the only ones left now
Near the bodies maimed and gored.
Why haven’t we got to Heaven yet
To receive our great reward?

"Where are the pearls and rubies
Of which our mullahs preach
And where the black-eyed virgins?
We should get 70 each!

"And why is the sky getting darker,
Now the angels have winged away?
What are these screams and nightmarish sounds?
Has our mission gone astray?

"Now at the shore there are brute, black beings,
Battalions on bat-like wing.
They’re a bit like angels but so much darker,
They growl instead of sing.

"They’re coming closer at lightning speed,
Their talons ugly and mean.
They do not look not like messengers
Sent from the fields serene.

"Their shadows race across the sky,
They scowl with murderous stares.
I fear we must flee them, brothers.
Now they’re forming into pairs."

…

'Twas the last thing heard of the murderers
Before the demon rout
Hauled them to Hell with grappling hooks.
Now their names are blotted out.

September 2001