Here by the fireside we sing songs
Songs of love and songs of wonder
Life is a journey of rights and wrongs
And sometimes everything is torn asunder
But life is wonder up above or down under
So I heard a girl say, named Susanna
And all that you build and all that you plunder
Will pass on the winds before the thunder
This world is neither yours nor mine to barter
A visitor from distant lands I come to wander
Life is what you make it and no harder
Such things I have learnt on this road I wander
Here we stand by the fireside singing songs
Singing about tomorrow and the day that's gone
Thinking of the roads and tunnels long
We'll wander east and west 'til we get home.
The clouds are gathered, winds blowing,
Together huddled for the storm is coming
Pain pulls to the edge of night, falling
Searing and burning bright, we lie groaning.
Across the plains and up the mountains
With nature's towers and flowing fountains
We lay to rest your earthly form
A month and twenty days, your home.
Goodbye goodbye Goddess of peace,
Heart of innocence without sin
Your life with us a pleasant dream
One of us, forever we sing.
This world will not break our heavy hearts
For your laughter we have known, pure and light
Perfect forever you remain, peace to you we pray
One of us, forever we sing,
One of us, forever in our hearts.
I have been searching, searching for something,
Looking for answers, answers to questions.
What is the meaning, the meaning of suffering,
Why do things happen, what is the reason?
Oh, I have been searching, looking for answers,
Trying to make sense, of all this madness.
Why do we take arms, and kill our brothers,
Why do we choose hate, and rape our sisters?
Is there a God above, who decrees these moments,
Is there a loved one, who passes judgement?
Is it all fantasy and nothing really matters?
I have been searching, searching for truth.
I have found you, and only you,
All I am, is because of you.
There is no meaning without you
Because of you, I am me.
He crests the hill as the sun slowly reaches out for the embrace of the horizon; the desert is hotter than he imagined it. All around him is a land that is slowly falling to the desert, the sand is relentless. Even now he can hear it in the wind, a storm is coming and he longs for the cool fields back home. Home, can he call it that anymore? He was born here, in these dry and rocky lands. His parents, searching for a better life moved to the west, America, the land of the infidels. He was only eight years then and has always felt he should have been given the choice to stay. "It is the promised land" his father had said, "where all are free and equal." His father had lied. He had never really felt free let alone equal. School had been hard; he hadn't said much in class because everyone laughed at him. They said he had a funny way of talking. The boys always teased him, calling him funny names. He had spent most of his time reading, the holy book was his favourite.
He had just turned twenty three when it all begun. The bombings hadn't been shown on CNN but there was a new TV station called "Al Jazeera". A particular image had sparked the anger, a young boy in the mountains of Afghanistan crying for his Quran, the infidels' bombs had destroyed it with the rest of his family! He had gotten tired of the way everyone treated him ever since the towers burned down. They made him feel like he had flown the planes. He had tired of this "Promised Land" and somehow the image of that boy had spurred him to action.
The local mosque was where he had met him. He had introduced himself as "Halil" and over the course of two years had taught him about the "true" Islam. There was a "Jihad" and all the faithful who fought and died fighting would be justly rewarded in paradise. He had felt a sense of brotherhood with Halil and had gotten distant from his family. His parents were not faithful, why did they not go back home to fight the infidels? Why did his father work in their factories and still receive no respect? His mother had stopped wearing the "Hijab" because it made people uncomfortable. She had had to give it up. Her boss at the diner had hinted as much if she wanted to keep her job. How could he live in the heartland of the infidel and still call himself faithful? He had to go and fight with his brothers, Allah commanded it.
Two years had passed since he got here, "The Land of Two Migrations" it was called. He had done terrible things in the name of Allah, but "The Teacher" said it was all Allah's will. He did not know what to believe anymore. He had watched women and children die in the name of Allah; he could not bring himself to believe that truly these were the ways of a "religion of peace." Tomorrow he would put on the cloths of a warrior, a soldier of Islam and he would die for it. Did he do the right thing? Only Allah knew the absolute truth, all he knew was that tomorrow he would die and take with him as many infidels.
The sun touches the horizon, the wind whispers to him and the sands of time fall ever so gently. In the distance he hears the call to prayer. He lays down the mat, kneels and faces the holy city. "God is great, God is great!" he begins his evening prayer.
