Dec 2014
She could have been a Mediterannean goddess;
An enamoured artist’s ethereal muse.
Golden tendrils meandeared across her visage ;
Her eyes greener than absinth , darker than the Black sea.
She was a daughter of the Tigris.
That burning serpent,
churning the blood of her brothers.
Infidel! devil-worshipper! they called her,
As they, burnt and ravaged all that she lived for.
The moon turned a shade of ochre, like it was made out of dust.
Of the brown ashes of Sinjar . Her vanquished motherland, that fallen paradise.
She prayed and prayed, to the Peacock angel;
with eyes closed, and a heart clutched in terror.
So he would spread his wings and save her.
But when she opened her eyes, the Da’esh loomed like death,
All around her, like vultures;
who wouldn’t spare the last shred of flesh on her bones.
They had scavenged her like a piece of trinket,
From the great pile of rubble, her land was reduced to.
She was their spoils from the war,
Her golden hair, her green eyes ; all theirs.
Their ravenous eyes like augers; spewing venom,
They were traffickers of the soul, to the most unholy depths of the inferno.
She was meant to be a goddess;
To rise to the realm of the Peacock angel.
If he did’nt release her soul, her spirit would rise to meet him .
She only smiled, when she took her life.
She smiled, till her last breath seeped out of her,
Death was ever so merciful, tenderly lulling her to sleep.
The Da’esh could plunder to all their dark glory.
But they could’nt fetter her soul.
Jilan, she was the fallen angel.
29/12/2014
An enamoured artist’s ethereal muse.
Golden tendrils meandeared across her visage ;
Her eyes greener than absinth , darker than the Black sea.
She was a daughter of the Tigris.
That burning serpent,
churning the blood of her brothers.
Infidel! devil-worshipper! they called her,
As they, burnt and ravaged all that she lived for.
The moon turned a shade of ochre, like it was made out of dust.
Of the brown ashes of Sinjar . Her vanquished motherland, that fallen paradise.
She prayed and prayed, to the Peacock angel;
with eyes closed, and a heart clutched in terror.
So he would spread his wings and save her.
But when she opened her eyes, the Da’esh loomed like death,
All around her, like vultures;
who wouldn’t spare the last shred of flesh on her bones.
They had scavenged her like a piece of trinket,
From the great pile of rubble, her land was reduced to.
She was their spoils from the war,
Her golden hair, her green eyes ; all theirs.
Their ravenous eyes like augers; spewing venom,
They were traffickers of the soul, to the most unholy depths of the inferno.
She was meant to be a goddess;
To rise to the realm of the Peacock angel.
If he did’nt release her soul, her spirit would rise to meet him .
She only smiled, when she took her life.
She smiled, till her last breath seeped out of her,
Death was ever so merciful, tenderly lulling her to sleep.
The Da’esh could plunder to all their dark glory.
But they could’nt fetter her soul.
Jilan, she was the fallen angel.
29/12/2014
Jilan, was a 19 year old woman, who was captured, amongst the thousands of Yazidi women from the Sinjar valley. She took her life, to save herself from a life of ****** slavery. Hundreds of young Yazidi girls have been driven to suicide. All that , the world will know of Jilan (from a rescued survivor) is her name, that she was very beautiful and that she knew they were coming to take her, so she slashed her wrist. This is a eulogy for all those tortured women, whose names we will never know.
