Written when ISIS was on the crest and a giggle of British schoolgirls were brainwashed on twitter.

The Rubaiyat of Zarah

Only peace and no recrimination

in the garden of my destination.

Immortal youths will serve and comfort me

in my fiery final incarnation.

Just a single-minded slave of Allah

never destined for the field of valour

till fate decreed for me a path unplanned

into the Hall of Martyrs, Inshallah!

Wise twitter-sirens of the Caliphate

send thoughts that pierce my mind – then detonate!

“Think! Will our next Saladin be your son?

Which humble bride will Allah nominate?”

All cyberspace is full of such bold thought.

“Heads full of maths and science come to nought.

What good is there in studying the earth

when Allah’s word is all that should be sought?

The West, beguiled by Satan, lost its way.

When fashion dazzles girls they go astray.

Forgetting God they lose their pride in self,

while Paradise is just for those who pray.

It’s woman’s blessed realm to operate

behind a veil where men will venerate

and pay them due respect. When sexes switch

their roles, societies disintegrate.

Your place is here in our Islamic State

to be a bride and brave jihadi’s mate.

Past seventeen a girl is deemed too old

so flee your bonds before it is too late.

Sister, for you we have a simple plan,

haste to your wedding day as fast you can.

Be chaste! Then fast and pray your daily five.

Breed many Muslim martyrs with your man.”

So to Mosul, in answer to the call

I came in niqab, covered overall,

to be settled in the house where future

brides are, by imams, taught and held in thrall.

“All disbelievers carry Allah’s curse.

It says so in the Qur’an’s holy verse.

Then, Slay them where you find them, says the book.

They are the fiends of Satan and perverse.

Their armies now are at our very gate

and raining bombs down on our Holy State,

but we don’t fear the wicked infidel,

for Allah’s sons will smite them down in hate."

Then, suddenly, a fatwa is proclaimed.

A missile into London will be aimed.

Disguised, a girl will travel as a bomb.

At morning call our martyr will be named.

All day we sisters panic sweat and quake.

At night we cry and pray and lie awake.

Which girl, a would-be bride, will have to die?

The imam says, “Be brave for Islam’s sake.”

At dawn the imam points a hand at me

and shakes his head in answer to my plea.

“You’re Allah’s choice, stand tall and show your pride.”

But all I feel is terror’s urge to flee.

Then I am led away and told my youth

is lacking in the facts of holy truth.

I must absorb the lessons of the book

and then go forth as Islam’s sabre-tooth.

“Fighting is obligatory for you.

It tells you so in Surah number two.

On disbelievers Allah puts a curse,

so kill the Christian and wicked Jew.

Make war on them till Islam is supreme.

These facts are not a foolish imam’s dream.

You’ll read them all in Surahs two to nine.

We lovers of the book work as a team.

Now off to Turkey where you melt away

as loving brothers speed you on your way

and teach how best to detonate the bomb

when you appear in London on the day."

Convinced that this is where my future lies

I hug my friends in tearful fond goodbyes  

because the imam’s lessons taught me that

Islam’s success must feed on Kafir’s cries.

At last I saunter through the vast arcade

where filth and Satan’s spawn are on parade.

“Kill and be killed for Islam and it’s cause.”

And my reward? “A gown of golden braid!”

“Make war on infidels,” true Muslims yell.

“Be harsh, for they are vile and come from hell.”

The girl who ran away is now a bomb.

Fearless! Inspired by Islam’s mighty spell.

I pray and feel the bomb-belt hug my flesh

a child asleep in mother's niqab creche.

One flick will blast these Kafirs back to hell

while I, in paradise, start life afresh.