Jihadi (Islam): One who fights against the evils in himself to purify his soul.

Jihadi (Media outlets): One who kills innocents in the name of religion and God.

 

A little warm-up before you read the following poem. Take a glass of water.

Now gulp down the fact that Islamophobia is real (Duh!).

You never needed water to help you take it in, did you?

Now gulp down the fact that it shouldn't be. Yes, use that glass of water, please!

 

Bullet-shots.

I had them plunged right into my heart.

Bullets of emotions,

which provoked my pen, my tears to start.

 

Bullet-shots.

She had them fired straight into her head.

Solid copper bullets,

coming out of a pistol cast from hatred.

 

She was loathed.

Possibly for the dark cloth that covered her bright soul,

The deep black hijab.

Funny her veil rather raised eyebrows. And his pistol.

 

She was an infidel only for believing in her Allah.

Her crime was trying to kill the ignorance in people's minds.

Ignorance, unfortunately, wore a logic-proof jacket,

And shot back at her heart, tender and kind.

 

It was one of those lucky days for Death.

The soul in his arms was pristinely light: no stains of hate.

It was one of those unlucky days for Earth.

The body in her embrace was exceptionally heavy: drenched with tears of the intimate. 

 

The Jihadi was killed.

A Jihadi was born.

Love soaked down into the dirt and escaped the atmosphere.

Hate roamed freely on the streets and permeated the air.

Meanwhile, I, put down my pen and raise my suffocated voice.

I, as it seems, have a change to steer.