Did You Know That Nigel Farage?

Here are some facts, Nigel Farage

On Muslims you fear, who are at large

We are not guilty of your charge

Did you know that, Nigel Farage?

You blame Muslims for your country’s woes

For spreading our Trojan mosques in droves

Muslim migrants draining your funds

Living in your hotels for fun

But we are not guilty of your charge

Did you know that, Nigel Farage?

Muslim doctors in the NHS

They are around 30 percent

Teachers, ten thousand strong you see

Pakistanis and Bangledeshis

Two hundred thousand lawyers represent

Of those Muslims make six percent

We are not guilty of your charge

Did you know that, Nigel Farage?

Yes we do build our mosques and pray

But we don’t do just that all day!

Some of us run markets and stalls

Some of us work in station halls

Some in the civil service work

Some in the banks do stamp and clerk

Some of us sweep the streets and shops

Some of us sell nice sweets and chops

Some of build, we get stuck in

Others sell Southern Fried Chicken

Some are executives in-charge

Did you know that, Nigel Farage?

Thousands of our elders of yore

Fought for you in both great world wars

Thousands of words you use each day

Come from our countries where you’ve stayed

From us you devised your alcohol

Your magazines, sofas, arsenal

Your check mate, universities

The robes that you wear for your degrees

We are not guilty of your charge

Did you know that, Nigel Farage?

You’d better apologize before it’s too late

With cup of chai and paratha in plate

Coz we will all vote then run the state

And then establish a kulfi-fete

On a great field ice cream, fromage!

Did you know that Nigel Farage?

This poem was written in response to Nigel Farage’s comments about Muslim, during an interview with Trevor Philips, on Sky News, 26/05

I’m An English Teacher Muslim Man!


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)

Mobeen Hood and the Crooked Pir

Pir Sikandar was a Gaddi Nasheen 

Who had more properties than Her Majesty the Queen 

Every Friday in his local mosque 

He gathered copious funds like a hungry fox 

Rupees from poor and rich whatever the vibe 

And to his TV channel, all, they must subscribe 

And if any of his followers decried 

“The curse of God on misers!” He would cry.  

His house was more a palace than khanqah 

For driving, he would cruise around in sports cars 

While most of his mureeds got by in rickshaws 

And most lived in crowded flats and on one floor 

But amongst all these, there was a wild malang 

With the honey bees of Love, he had been stung 

This roaming dervish, he was called Mobeen 

His face looked rough- his heart was most serene 

He loved some stories, but one he thought was good 

Was about the Merry men and Robin Hood! 

One night to God, he cried and he implored: 

“I will perform one thing that Thou deplores 

I’ll steal the funds hidden in Sikandar’s stores 

And rob the rich to benefit the poor!” 

So, in the night, whilst Sikandar was asleep 

Mobeen he lurked outside with just a creep 

He slipped into the tomb of Sikandar’s Dada 

And there he spoke with ecstasy to the spirit of this Baba 

From there he took some treasures and some light 

And distributed it throughout the night 

Sikandar’s followers awoke feeling so rich 

With hidden Oneness lights, no more they itched 

Then on that Friday, when Sikandar came to rule 

Despite his retinue, he looked a total fool 

Because to his infuriating surprise 

No one had turned up to pray in the lines 

“Where are my followers? Where are they indeed?” 

He stormed at his most gullible mureed 

So, then they searched and drove along the roads 

To each and every disciple’s abode 

And everywhere they went they couldn’t fathom 

That each mureed they met was now bedazzled 

With priceless, wealthy lights around their head 

And public crowds following in their stead 

The last they met was none other than Mobeen 

Who wore the jewels of love brighter than the Queen: 

Sikandar cried: “Mobeen for goodness sake! 

I thought I was supposed to be the shaykh! 

And now all those who once would follow me 

Each one has turned into a boundless sea!” 

Mobeen said: “O dear pir I must confess 

I robbed the lights hidden within your chest 

That you have locked away in your darbar 

And now your way of life from this is far 

Like Robin Hood I stole from one who’s rich 

With ancestors who gave their nafs the ditch 

I shared their lights with those who are deserving 

As you have ignored things that need preserving.” 

Pir Sikandar, wealthy Gaddi Nasheen 

Proclaimed in shame: “O God, what have I been!” 

And there and then he chose he would repent 

And gave away his riches then off he went 

Roaming the roads like one who’s on a search 

Because his love for God has gone berserk 

He left Mobeen to take his rightful place 

As the sincere pir; as the real shaykh 

And that’s the story of old Mobeen Hood 

And Pir Sikandar who changed all for the good! 


Gaddi Nasheen- inheritor/son of previous Pir or Shaykh (spiritual leader/holy man) and assumes his position in the community 

Mureed- followers of spiritual leader 

Malang- deranged, spiritual aspirant with strange powers 

Baba- old shaykh, pir / old man 

Dada- grandfather from father’s side 

Darbar- grave of spiritual leader/holy person






And I’m older by 42

I’ve seen the SARS

Mad Cow disease

And AIDS and Avian flu

Bird flu, Man-flu, Ebola

I’ve seen them on the news

And now you’re here, Corona crown

Pandemic so epically 

Epidemic of our media age

Behaving untypically

Scourge of men and stock markets

Endemic to the earth

A pulsing strain of pathogens

You’re spreading round your worth!

Soon you may encounter me

Coughing through NOVID then

Coasting through my veins and blood

We’d meet and start to blend

COVID could imbue NOVID

Then I would be your host

Conflated with an acronym

Not such a thing to boast!

Now name-calls in registers

Could make me squirm in shame

People may remember you

When they gaze at my name

I guess if I spread ill like you

They’ll see COVID in NOVID then

I guess if I harass the weak


Your name could blight me, permanently

No cheer would my name give

Thoughts of dire suffering

By saying just: NOVID

But if I learn the art of love

Like Tiresias transcend

If I spread verse and elegies

OVID in NOVID then!

But If I learn to weather storms

Like Ulysses and his men

If I ride waves of discontent

OVID in NOVID then!

So COVID 19 here you are

With NOVID 77

Perhaps there’s poetic justice

Perhaps there is a blessing

Perhaps through you I’ll know myself

And wash hands for 20 seconds!

By Novid Shaid

The Rise of Trump and Baghdadi

A New Yorker called Donald Trump
With Latinos and Muslims, he had the hump!
For him all the Latinos were a bunch of druggies
And Muslims were a national security worry.

He’d flick his quiff and pick and sniff
While screaming firebrand speeches
The Muslims angered him so much
He’d go all pink like peaches!

Continue reading