Terrorism: when victims become disciples

RIPPLES (A 5-minute trance)



Over a pool, she steps
Fast, stains, red.
A drop,
Engenders current of images;
Like a hologram.
One, holds an infant-girl with a straw hat
She begins school in the Sahel.

Over a pool, she dips one cold night
Disciples-in-distress,
Sold into child sex slavery,
A bolder reality of gloom
Death trapped in the locks of her hair.
A puerile soul –
Bounded by the “love of God”
'Duty-bound to please her lord
The virgin gift.

Over a pool, she soars into the ‘holies’
Shards of glass flying across realms
In the street, her death-locks run wild
Trails of bodies crisscross into dust.
Beware all sinners and saints!!!
Where she goes,
The scalding ripples of terror follows.

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