I’m An English Teacher Muslim Man!

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Listen and wail Tommy Robinson

Have a stiff drink Lee Anderson

And run Katie Hopkins! Run as fast as you can!

I’m an English Teacher Muslim man…

I’m your worst nightmare; I’m a living curse

When you hear my words, living may turn worse

For 24 years and around six months

Through the cold seasons and the worldly slumps

In the day I have read the rhythms of Blake

To the kids, for exams that they have to take

But before the glory of the rising sun

After sunset falling, equilibrium

I have prayed like the way of the Taliban

I’m an English Teacher Muslim man!

Run, run- get Prevent as fast as you can

I’m an English teacher Muslim man…

I have read Shakespeare with the children rapt

Then in lunch I have read the Quran resting in my lap

I’m an English teacher bewitched by the words

From the English-speaking literary world

But there’s also something you must understand

I’m an English teacher Muslim man…

Run, run-tell Michael Gove as fast as you can

I’m an English teacher Muslim man…

You may think I’m an oxymoron fiend

The anti-thesis of your Union dreams

I don’t fit in your ‘uz and them’ story

Coz I live the Quran but I teach poetry

I wasn’t conceived and born outside

In the Royal Bucks hospital, I did cry!

Just a stone-throw away from Vernon Scannell

I was raised in Aylesbury near the canal

At school with Catholics I did sing

And performed as the king in Rumpelstilskin

I was good at writing stories-grand

I’m an English teacher Muslim man

You say that Islam does not belong here

But signs of Allah are everywhere

Every breath I’ve taken whilst on this land

I have followed the Sharia, like the desert sands!

I have said my prayers; I have given my alms

I have fasted the month of Ramadan

I have made jihad with my English words

In the local earth are my elders interred

I took unpaid leave to perform the Hajj

But I’ve learned from Tybalt: don’t hold a grudge!

From Inspector Goole to care and share

And from Mary Shelley hubris beware!

And from Dr Jekyll, duplicity

And from Scrooge: goodwill’s felicity

But the Holy Quran is my motherland

I’m an English teacher Muslim man

Run, run, call Trump as fast as you can

I’m an English teacher Muslim man

So Tommey and Katie, Boris and friends

Where do you think this is going to end?

The only thing you can possibly do

Is to throw me out with the vindaloo!

That won’t solve the teacher shortage of course

And there’s thousands more like me in force!

My wife was a teacher, worked in schools

In my tribe, three doctors work, so cool

My brother and brothers-in-law experts

In IT infrastructure they work

There are psychologists, directors, nurses

Mid-wives, lawyers, and taxi hearses!

Some of my friends run eateries

Some run buses and late taxis

We have ripened on these streets right here

Will you throw us all out into the thin air?

Perhaps if you spent some time with us

You would realise there is not much fuss

We are much alike; we have differences

But there is some chance that we all can live

We are bound to Palestine, the free

You are bound to Israel’s dynasties

There is much to hate, but there’s much to learn

The Joker’s the one- wants the world to burn

You seek to be true to the ones like you

We seek to be true to our God so true

So beware things may go out of hand

I’m an English teacher Muslim man

You carry on loving your old St George

Have a good knees up, praise the Lord!

Carry on praising King and Queen

But careful Boris don’t be obscene

We’re not here to possess your ancestral lands

The earth’s is God’s, do you understand?

And Douglas Murray: we’re not weaselling through,

You need us just as we need you…

So, I leave you just in case you’ve not heard

The very first word of the Quran’s World

Read, read, as deeply as you can

I’m an English teacher Muslim man

(See Video on the Video Section)

Monster At the Office

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I work in an office, probably like the one that many of you also work in. Row upon row of shining desks, kitted with personal computers, flat-screen monitors, swivel chairs, post-it notes; surrounded by notice boards, weekly targets, coffee machines, softly humming recessed troffer lights, matrixed carpets, whitewash walls; topped off with the larger rooms of our directors and team managers, divided off with glass at the end. Where the blinds are sometimes drawn… Where the big decisions take place… Where you dread being called to… Depending on your productivity levels of course!

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INTERPRETATIONS: ROMEO AND JULIET- excerpt from Act 5 Scene 1

“There is thy gold, worse poison to men’s souls,
Doing more murders in this loathsome world
Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell
I sell thee poison; thou hast sold none.”

Act Five Scene One

This fascinating aside from Romeo, whilst pressing the apothecary to proffer him a powerful poison for his self-dispatchment, is an example of the rich universal wisdom and social commentary Shakespeare offers in the play. There are many such instances, like the Friar’s simple but sober reminder to Romeo, “love moderately”; the nurses early proto-feminist complaint, “There’s no trust /No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured, /All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers”; and even Romeo’s frank rebuttal of the Friar’s philosophy and learning: “Thous canst not speak of that thou dost not feel.”

The play is replete with pithy social commentary and universal truths, such is the genius of Shakespeare, but Romeo’s cutting observation above is worth exploration especially in this 2026 world of billionaires, international economic meltdowns and post-Epstein excesses.

Here Shakespeare juxtaposes gold and poison, an analogy that early audiences would appreciate, and even Puritans would find merit in observing. The poison Romeo is after will dispatch of him and even twenty others, such is the strength the apothecary tells him. We could surmise that this poison was extracted from some deadly creature that Verona society may have contact with or which could have been sourced in those days. Furthermore, the apothecary warns Romeo that Verona’s law could indict him severely for offering it to anyone for sale. However, the poor dispenser relents as his “poverty” and not his “will, consents” illustrating the abject quality of life that your average herbalist or apothecary would face some four hundred years ago. Compare that to the healthy business and profits that chemists, pharmacists and of course the pharmaceutical corporations experience nowadays!

But what a reminder! Even for us now in 2026: “There is thy gold, worse poison to men’s souls…” The apothecary’s poison could dispatch of twenty, the greed for gold, wealth and mammon could destroy whole societies, whole continents, whole epochs.

In this scene, Romeo believes he has lost his true love, and now nothing means anything to him, especially gold. He lavishes Balthasar with a monetary gift before entering Juliet’s resting place in act five scene three, for there is nothing more precious for him than love. Shakespeare shows us perfectly that he is in the throes of love madness which cannot end but tragically.

But Romeo’s line is a powerful reminder to subsequent audiences that wealth is a noxious element in the world, symbolised by gold, and that love itself is a true bounty “as boundless as the sea” as Juliet announces in the famous Act two scene two. Pursuing these ideals is healthier, truer, freer than replenishing the lowest and darkest desires of the human soul.

We in 2026 would be wise to ponder and dwell on Romeo’s warning about gold; consider how this poison can enter the veins of a body and a body-politic; how this poison transmogrifies into others: sexual abuse; propaganda; hatred of the ‘other’; Machiavellian murder and assassination; rape of the earth; oppression; genocide; obsession.

Gold is indeed worse poison to us. An interesting subtext of the play is that Capulet arguably wants his wealth to flow into another wealthy channel, Paris, which is partly why he sees Juliet as the “hopeful lady of [his] earth”. A marriage with Paris could have mutual, material benefit for both parties. Thus, the pursuit of greater wealth and status is the greatest impediment to cosmic love and unconditional devotion.

We in 2026 would be well-advised to observe and to consider whether the poison of gold is the real origin of the call to arms, and Patriotism that many are professing more these days via mass media. A rich man recently said that his country had been colonised by immigrants, who were draining his country’s economy. And many others like him on their multi-billion media platforms are now professing their love for their culture and country, trying to put Romeo’s love for Juliet to shame. I wonder whether they would be as generous as Romeo in his final hours for the sake of their beloved country.

Watch out for the poison of gold, clothing itself in poetry of the patriotism.

Ramadan Song

Salatullah!

Salaamullah!

Alayka Ya Rasol Allah

Hannanullah

Mannanullah

Ya Habeebe

Shay’an lillah (chorus)

The crescent moon

Portents Of boon

The fiends are gaoled

And blessings prevail

We sense a guest

Of pure finesse

Gracing our doors

Delusions’ cure

(Chorus)

O Ramadan!

Minder from harm

Reveal your charms

Despite our sins

We pray for peace

The wars’ surcease

O Gaza’s lights!

God shield your nights!

(Chorus)

The first ten days

Mercy our stay

The second ten

Pardon, amen

The last ten nights

Safety’s in sight!

O night of fate

Grant us your grace!

(Chorus)

RAMADAN KAREEM, 1446, 2025

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1gbk98lwfM9yMQzcOJtsK6xaKYoxUTNQs/view?usp=drive_link

(Melody and chorus taken from The Jerrahi Halvetis of Karragamruk, Istanbul)

A Poem For The 25th

Jesus, peace be upon him,

And Mary, the cloistress

the spirit of Truth

and the Mother of gnosis,

Glad tiding to those

And to their closest

Who remember these two

And Muhammad and Moses

Abraham and Jonah

Daylight for the hopeless

Peace be upon them

By the number of roses!

And the generous host

And magnanimous hostess

Say a warm, special prayer

For the weak and the homeless

The wandering Gazan

Who roams with the formless

In the West Bank and Gaza

Balm for our neuroses

Amen

On New Syria

Dear Muslims, compliments if you’ve succeeded

In exorcising demons on your thrones

Glad tidings and best wishes to your country

May your people flourish and your rivers flow

But remember when it’s your turn to accede

Another demon whispers and can grow

You know the fallen ways of this flawed world

From blameless babies, tyrants can unfurl

May you be those who rule with truth and love

So, you can feel the blessings from above

May you be those protected from all sides

From demons external, and ones inside

Ameen

On Elections

The dunya spoke to me once in a dream:

“If you choose me, I’ll make your life serene

The benefits I’ll bring you won’t believe!

Don’t listen to those others who deceive!

I’ll end the wars and make your troubles go

Borders will be safe; money will flow,

I promise you more money in your pockets

The chance to build a world without the rockets

All I need is that you play your part

And choose me in the ballot of your heart.”

And so I crossed the dunya on the slip

Four years elapsed, things did not change one bit

And then the dunya called me once again

Dressed up in gold and handing me a pen

“If you choose me, you won’t regret this night

I will be better than before, all right!?”

The salesmen of the dunya come and go

Buy from them sceptically, heed not the show…

Parody For Jekyll, Hyde and Palestine

Extract from Pearce Morgan’s letter, read by the UN lawyer, Antonio Uttereson

“My dear sir, I have suffered an interminable horror from which I fear no release will ever exist on the horizon. So, I will just leave you with this. In a desperate letter from my dear friend, Dr America, he advised me to host an individual at the dead of night with whom I must conduct an interview for the multitude.

And so it transpired, at that dreadful hour of nocturnal intrigue, I heard a crude knock on the door to which I assented entry. And there emerged an older individual, stinking of phosphorous and burning flesh, dressed in the combat attire of the IDF, large ears, dark smouldering eyes like molten rock, a wide face and imperious bearing. But there was something else about this man, something so rank, and so misbegotten that as I watched him, I saw thousands of burning souls in his wake, countless strikes from the air, an orphaned, pulverised city, and ethnically cleansed, searing earth. I felt as though vomit would envelope me and an unearthly sickness began to take root.

However, desperate to accomplish this business, I initiated my intercourse with this damned fellow, on my live channel, a steady audience of ten thousand tuning in, when all of a sudden, his cheeks began contorting, his eyes widened like a lizard’s, melting into shades of red, white, blue, and stars seemed to dazzle momentarily. Then he bowed his head, I was already consumed in a state of infernal horror, when he looked up, and there, as if a cadaver brought back to the world of living, there stood my erstwhile colleague, Dr America!

And so he told me what he told me, and I heard what I heard, and now a deadly terror sits on my screen, and I wince every time I look at Rupert. Sleep has left me, and my viewing numbers are dwindling.

You may think that I talk of nonsensical impossibilities, but let me tell you this as gravely as I can Mr Uttereson, that the man who entered my room was none other than Mr Netanyahu, a wanted criminal, under an arrest warrant for crimes against humanity on the command of the ICJ. But the one who left my room, to my unending horror, was a man I once considered the man of the free, the epitome of justice, freedom and equality, Dr America…

PS: Mr Uttereson- just a final inquiry- Do you support HAMAS?

The King, the Dervishes, and the Patio Weeds

The King, Al Wahid, peerless and profound

Whose wisdom works silently and aloud

He sent two dervishes upon a mission

A testing quest, an unalterable imposition

“My close and near bondsmen, my dervishes!

You witness My presence and services

But now I’m sending you upon the earth

Where you will rise and flourish from a birth

And there you have a special job to do

To tend to my wild garden through and through

The patio is your responsibility

Each side for each of you, clear it of weeds

Those weeds grow through the cracks relentlessly

They find a way and grow back endlessly

Their names are creeping thistle ma’siah

Another one’s called hub ad dunya

Here is a gardening tool to pull them out

It’s called at tawba, working strong and stout

The clearer and flawless the paths you make

I will be there to visit for your sake!”

So off they went the dervishes abroad

Far, down to earth as stated by their Lord

The first dervish he struggled to control

The weeds, he pulled them out, as he’d been told

The other one, he found a clever trick

Told to him by a snake, whispering and thick

“Use this bold spray, it’s called riya so fine,

It will destroy the weeds and look sublime

Not only your dear King but all around

Will love to see your patio and grounds!”

And so it came to pass, the patios

The first dervish, he struggled and was slow

His patio looked incomplete, unkempt

Some weeds pulled out, some sticking out and bent

The other’s patio, so clear and fine

Shining from riya spray it looked divine

But on the day the King came for a visit

The second dervish, ailing was his spirit!

Because the King his patio He spurned

And to the dirty patio He turned

“O why, dear king, my patio forsake

Which is so free of weeds for Your Pure Sake?!”

The King He viewed the dervish with a look

The riya spray shivered and the ground it shook…

“I spend My time on this poor patio

Because with at tawba it shines and glows

This one he struggles, but he keeps pulling

The weeds grow back but he does not give in

They keep returning, tearful is his heart,

I love the fact that he does not depart!

But you just do it all for pride and show

So take heed from your brother, then you will know!

Don’t be hoodwinked, the weeds are of the earth

And you have not been sent there just for mirth

Keep dealing with those weeds that grow within

You need Me close; alone you cannot win…”

When Layla Visited…

Layla graced our town with a procession

And every heart desired to see her face

So, I adorned myself with the finest outfit

Perfumed my beard with rose, the purest white

My voice, I practised eloquent encomia

My eyes, I checked my gazes on the screen

And then approaching calmly her palanquin

I called out to her longingly on a whim

Suddenly, the curtains drew aside

And there sat veiled the irresistible bride

She said: “Dear sir, what’s all this fakery?

That’s layered on your pretty words for me?

This hall of mirrors, these pixels in your heart

Cast them aside, stop gawking at the parts

Lessen the talk talk, tighten your broad band

Transcend the tick tock, do you understand?

Obsess not on the why, the fie, what’s apt

Instead arouse your heart, empty your lap

When your subconscious’s silent and serene

Then I will be ready to be your queen…”

MAWLID MUBARAK!