Strange Meeting on the Gaza March in London on November 11th

For Owen

It seemed that from the march I escaped

Down some tunnel, with mouth agape

Scooped through the hazy granite of time

Deep into the annals of past years, hopes sublime

Yet there, sleeping soundly as cherubim

Lay men of merit who’d seen times so grim

Those unknown faces who once in the past

Had laid their lives without much questions asked

For country, duty, and for freedom of good

And of them now a line of sleepers stood

Before me, all my grandfathers of yore

Who’d bravely fought in all these Western wars

And at the front there stood a man of charm

My own grandfather an honourable Khan

“Strange indeed it is,” I said, pensive

“That for a foreign land your life you’d give…”

My grandfather, he looked me in the eye

“My son,” he said, with a knowing, wistful sigh,

“My own father, my cousins and my elders

We served so that our families would be sheltered,

And we fought hard and firm for the British Raj

Not fleeing from a skirmish or barrage

And so eventually I settled in England

I wore my medal ribbons and I mingled

I bore a family in old Birmingham

And now you stand here with a plate of jam!

But listen here, these words, I speak in truth

Never would we fight for this, forsooth,

For selling the poor soul of Jerusalem

And purging that land of Bethlehem

Never would we stand with such disaster

As bleeding dry the children of young Gaza

The enemy they kill are young and free

Who now lay cold, were loath to leave early

Alas us men at arms we had no such choice

So for those children indeed raise your voice…”


Terrorist! Devil! Barbarian!

Thieving Occupier! Felon!

Son of a killer, murdering fiend!

Son of a coloniser supreme!

Your fighters slew our kids in bed

Your snipers shot our children’s heads

We will avenge your shameless crimes!

We will resist your vile designs!

80 years we have had no peace!

80 years our lands decreased!

The rockets you sent they killed our dreams!

Your bombings blew us to smithereens!

From you, we do fear our security

Before you, we lived in our country, free

We were fleeing persecution and death

But you exiled millions of us in a breath

We returned to this land, our clear birthright

You usurped all our lands; we will always fight!

We settled right here in the holy lands

By stealing our houses and tying our hands

When we came to this land, we established law

And you spurned our rights and international law

Can’t you see all we want is to live in peace

Can’t you see all we want is our pain to cease

We are here to stay; there’s no turning back

We are of this land; we will grow right back!

Dear English Tongue

My dreaming language, dear English tongue!

Through Shakespeare you’ve enthralled the old and young

But through imperialism and technology

You’ve left a trail of pain and lethargy

So let me boost your lexis and your art

By using you to praise the Prophet’s heart!

Dear English tongue, Muhammad, peace on him

His miracle was light that shone within

So brilliant and fine his inner light

That Aisha found a needle deep in the night!

Dear English tongue, Muhammad, peace on him

His character was pure, beyond the whim

His miracle was the eloquent Quran

Whose verses still the soul, protect from harm

Dear English tongue, Muhammad, peace on him,

You may ask us, why do we love him?

As when he was accosted by cruel words

He was loving despite the hate he heard

Dear English tongue, you may think this rather odd

But through Muhammad, you will reach The Only God

The Only One, that people in the West

Think is a myth and their English tongue knows best

But English tongue, know this I do beseech

That every word exists through Allah’s speech…

And Peace and Blessings on Muhammadan!

From Edinburgh, and Cardiff and London!

I’m Better Than Him

I’m better than him

It’s in the genes

Khalaqtanee min naarin

Wa khalaqtahu min teen

I’m better than him

It’s in the genes

He drives a bus

I got a PHD.

I’m better than him

It’s in the genes

He hails from the third world

I’m related to the Queen.

I’m better than her

It’s in the genes

She grew up in a flat

I was raised with prestige.

I’m better than her

It’s in the genes

Her father is a guard

My father’s a marine.

We’re better than them

It’s in the genes

We’re a civilised folk

Their culture’s obscene.

We’re better than them

It’s in the genes

Our race has evolved

Their race is naive.

I’m better than him

It’s in the genes

Khalaqtanee min naarin

Wa khalaqtahu min teen

(Chorus based on Quranic verses: Suratul A’raf/Chapter of The Heights- 7:12: The devil’s explanation to Allah about not bowing to Adam (as): “I am better than him; You created me from fire, while You created him from clay.”)

Never Again, They Said

Never again, will it happen, they said

Never again, will the Nazis purge, they said

Never again, will the children of Israel grieve, they said

Never again will we sit by

While they use their poisoned words, they said

While they call them vermin, rats and traitors, they said

While they spread their hate and theories, they said

About their faith and about their intentions, they said

While they say the Jews are treacherous, they said

While they prepare the ground for the gassings and rapes

While their poison works through the public’s veins, they said

While their headlines and stories purvey the hate, they said

While their propaganda blinds the masses, they said

Never again will such hatred breed, they said

Continue reading

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


Dear Young Men of Baghdadi’s fiefdom,
Is Allah pleased?
When you fire upon civilians
When you shoot cowering women in the temple
Is Allah pleased?
When you blow up your own bodies
And your limbs lie upon the limbs of a young child
Is Allah with you?
When you kidnap young women
And use and abuse them for your own lusts
Does Allah approve of you?
When you deal in oil and drugs,
When you buy your stuff from gangsters and from thugs


Dear Purveyors of Western Freedom,
When you lay waste to Arab cities,
Is this for freedom and equality?
When you ignore millions of dissenters
Is this for freedom and equality?
When you sell and manufacture chemical bombs,
Is this for freedom and equality?
When you create heaven in your lands
But sow discord and conjure hell elsewhere
Is this for freedom and equality?
When you oscillate between who is your ally and who is your terrorist
Is this for the sake of freedom and equality?

I’m A Muslim Man In Britain



I’m an alien, I’m a legal alien. Sting            


This is what I think it means to be a British Muslim today, who was born and bred in England but hailed from immigrant parents. To have an eclectic medley of voices swirling around in your brain. Living and constantly shifting between different worlds, religions, languages, cultures, traditions and voices, all competing for some kind of hold on your identity, on your spirit, your will. All this baggage, mixed-loyalties, competing face masks and fashions stuffed into a short-lived life, which, for many of us, typically consists of home, school, mosque and holidays to Pakistan and the holy lands or whichever country you hail from.

Continue reading