They were hot on the trail
of the Parisian terrorists
who killed 127 people
When the gendarme came for her
they asked… “where's your boyfriend?”
she answered “he’s not my boyfriend”
she pushed a button and blew herself up
painting the inside of her modest flat
with a single coat of macabre rouge
an unsympathetic Tweet reported
that her head flew out the window
coming to rest on the cobblestone street
in front of the neighborhood bakery
her nostrils drawing a final breath filled
with the aroma of freshly baked croissants
perhaps her dimming retina reflected
the flickering laser strobe scanning
the Parisian skyline from atop
the Eiffel Tower
maybe it was for the best
that she's been released
from her earthly travails
gotta be a major downer
being a card carrying Jihadi
living life, parsing locations
to find the best sites to
****** innocent people
living life inside the prison
of a black burka, is
living inside the dogma
of religious delusion
gotta be a living hell
living large in a
Dante’s Inferno
doin hard time in
solitary confinement
of an addled mind
chained to a
wretched heart
looking at life
through tiny slit
like horse blinders
designed to encumber
the distraction of any
peripheral perspective
in summer the dark fabric
traps heat inside the raiment
bringing simmering resentment
to a raging boil
railing against bourgeois decadence
stewing over the whoredom of halter tops,
mini skirts and teeny weeny bikinis
a coal fired pressure cooker
stoked with repressed libidinal energy
loathing the sin of intimacy
recoiling from any intimate touch
the simmering resent
unable to find release
slowly builds until it blows
pure torture for a young woman
how can you not fall in love in Paris?
groove to jazz, lounge an afternoon away
sipping coffee at a sidewalk bistro
French kiss a lover
on a Rive Gauche bench
In The City of Light
how can you prefer body counts
to loving embraces?
the construction of a suicide vest
to epiphanies concealed in
affable Impressionists brushstrokes
or the revelations of Cezanne's dancers
to never roll the warm blush
from a fine Bordeaux
in the cradle of your tongue
or the sophisticated pose
of a first cigarette
to be immersed
in the City of Lights
while shunning
its illumination
by hiding under
a black burka
is absurd
why does this form of Islam require
these sacrifices from the fairer ***
why does their understanding
of faith forbid body contact
yet demands a righteous body count?
what type of religion sanctifies this?
where an unknowable Allah
promises a paradisaical afterlife
only through the condemnation
of a pedestrian Joie de Vivre
Sharia liberates the soul
with divine chains of submission
and stokes an abhorrence to
secular democracy that condemns
the spirit to the anarchy of choices
is it no surprise she pulled the trigger?
to bad the Quran consumed all her reading time
had she only lifted a slim volume of Camus
she may have read The Myth of Sisyphus
"suicide springs from a feeling of absurdity"
Allah condemned her to a dark subservience
whose only goal was a nihilist martyrdom of
mass ****** and self annihilation
Said Camus
“those who lack courage will
always find a philosophy to justify it”
and finally she may have understood
Camus's posit of the most important question….…...
“should I **** myself or have a cup of coffee?
she should have had a cup of coffee….
Erik Satie - Trois Gymnopédies
jbm
Oakland
020316
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 2:54 AM UTC
They were hot on the trail
of the Parisian terrorists
who killed 127 people
When the gendarme came for her
they asked… “where's your boyfriend?”
she answered “he’s not my boyfriend”
she pushed a button and blew herself up
painting the inside of her modest flat
with a single coat of macabre rouge
an unsympathetic Tweet reported
that her head flew out the window
coming to rest on the cobblestone street
in front of the neighborhood bakery
her nostrils drawing a final breath filled
with the aroma of freshly baked croissants
perhaps her dimming retina reflected
the flickering laser strobe scanning
the Parisian skyline from atop
the Eiffel Tower
maybe it was for the best
that she's been released
from her earthly travails
gotta be a major downer
being a card carrying Jihadi
living life, parsing locations
to find the best sites to
****** innocent people
living life inside the prison
of a black burka, is
living inside the dogma
of religious delusion
gotta be a living hell
living large in a
Dante’s Inferno
doin hard time in
solitary confinement
of an addled mind
chained to a
wretched heart
looking at life
through tiny slit
like horse blinders
designed to encumber
the distraction of any
peripheral perspective
in summer the dark fabric
traps heat inside the raiment
bringing simmering resentment
to a raging boil
railing against bourgeois decadence
stewing over the whoredom of halter tops,
mini skirts and teeny weeny bikinis
a coal fired pressure cooker
stoked with repressed libidinal energy
loathing the sin of intimacy
recoiling from any intimate touch
the simmering resent
unable to find release
slowly builds until it blows
pure torture for a young woman
how can you not fall in love in Paris?
groove to jazz, lounge an afternoon away
sipping coffee at a sidewalk bistro
French kiss a lover
on a Rive Gauche bench
In The City of Light
how can you prefer body counts
to loving embraces?
the construction of a suicide vest
to epiphanies concealed in
affable Impressionists brushstrokes
or the revelations of Cezanne's dancers
to never roll the warm blush
from a fine Bordeaux
in the cradle of your tongue
or the sophisticated pose
of a first cigarette
to be immersed
in the City of Lights
while shunning
its illumination
by hiding under
a black burka
is absurd
why does this form of Islam require
these sacrifices from the fairer ***
why does their understanding
of faith forbid body contact
yet demands a righteous body count?
what type of religion sanctifies this?
where an unknowable Allah
promises a paradisaical afterlife
only through the condemnation
of a pedestrian Joie de Vivre
Sharia liberates the soul
with divine chains of submission
and stokes an abhorrence to
secular democracy that condemns
the spirit to the anarchy of choices
is it no surprise she pulled the trigger?
to bad the Quran consumed all her reading time
had she only lifted a slim volume of Camus
she may have read The Myth of Sisyphus
"suicide springs from a feeling of absurdity"
Allah condemned her to a dark subservience
whose only goal was a nihilist martyrdom of
mass ****** and self annihilation
Said Camus
“those who lack courage will
always find a philosophy to justify it”
and finally she may have understood
Camus's posit of the most important question….…...
“should I **** myself or have a cup of coffee?
she should have had a cup of coffee….
Erik Satie - Trois Gymnopédies
jbm
Oakland
020316
This poem is a companion piece to Righteous Ruminations ....
It is not my intention to denigrate Islam or Muslim women of the veil...
tolerance for religion is the path to peace...
yet the tension between the secular west and Sharia practices remain at odds and nurture extremism on both sides
Request permission to use this poem