One of the two Queens jihadists facing terrorism charges for allegedly planning to build a bomb to detonate in the United States was an aspiring poet, and her words are chilling.
In addition to “pleasing Allah” through explosives, Asia Siddiqui, 31, used the pen to “taste the Truth through fists and slit throats.”
According to the Daily Mail, Siddiqui was friends with Samir Khan, the former editor of the al Qaida magazine Inspire, who ran one of her poems in a publication called Jihad Recollections.
Video from 4 New York:
Khan was killed in a 2011 drone strike in Yemen that also killed Islamic terrorist Anwar al-Awlaki. Both men were U.S. citizens.
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The long, rambling poem, titled “Take Me to the Lands Where the Eyes are Cooled,” was published under the name “Murdiyyah,” which traced back to Siddiqui through a computer IP address.
Here is an excerpt:
Here- taste the Truth through fists and slit throats –
And prefer this over death from slit wrists, pills, drunk and doped
Thank me later, for now, do what you will – let the noise persist!
Siddiqui and Noelle Velentzas, 28, referred to themselves as “real bad bitches,” and allegedly planned to carry out a terrorist attack in New York City, the Mail reported. The women were targeting a military base or police funeral with a homemade bomb, according to an informant.
Here is the entire poem, as published in the Daily Mail:
TAKE ME TO THE LANDS WHERE THE EYES ARE COOLED
Take me to the lands where the eyes are cooled…
There are dreams I will leave everything behind for
Everything that has meaning in my life
Came to life with the introduction to my Lord
To the Oneness of my Lord
To the Mercies of His evermore
Than I can implore…
I have memories of soldiers of Allaah, memories of soldiers of shaytan
Memories of battlegrounds I haven’t yet stepped on
Memories of battlefields I have never stepped on…
Yaa Allaah, take me – Aslamtu lirabbil aalameen
Take me… to the lands where the eyes are cooled
Jannatul Firdaus lies unpursued
I remind myself these sacrifies are only for You, too few
Hunger never felt so good as it does handcuffed
Some of us are born soldiers, battle runs through our blood
The sound of gun rattle sends a rush, soothing
I sleep with my eyes open, my subconscious constantly invoking
Al-Baa’ith! Al-Mu’eed! … my mind strays back to golden past I haven’t yet lived…
All this Time I spent living Wahn dreams instead
Surrounded by walls of marble with widescreens, gardens of plush green
Pouring rain splashing on window panes, crystal ceilings
But Allaahi, nafsi only knew of empty feelings
Verily, time teases. The tease of martyrdom when the ruh leaves
In degrees; the degrees every soul dreams to seize
The degrees the angels appease one over another
The degrees of infinite seas with which the Lord pleads, the seven seas cannot encumber
I drown in ghibtah rage for a cavalry of my own
Plotting against shaytaan, suffocating for self-control
I want to be purified with every breath, every sweat, every echo, every harakah
The innumerable Tawaafs, the countless du’at, every step I take, I’m back at Arafat
I have work to do. Mistakes to correct, time to make up.
No excuse to sit back and wait- for the skies rain martyrdom
Wait, No! The skies never rain martyrdom…
Martyrdom rains the skies!
This world is a morgue on standstill watching the lost souls
In a cold, silent, blank stare – death stare
Death stirs in cold, silent, despair
Finding no place to call home, my vision blurs
All my fingers plucked out, my veins stretched to dull
Laughter poking into my sleep… into my dreams
Peeling laughter – the never-ending discourse of shaytaan’s regime
Sahytaan Ar Rajeem… silenced. Prison walls that scream
The urges reincarnate into rebellion, into physical hunger, social incompetency
I am a slithering soul cringing to be free
The sweat of my efforts choke, wet strokes of vapour from a cloud
For my dreams to emerge… on cracked canvas – chipping off paint
The pigments of a lost nation. A curse. A nation. A religion. A pagan
An exiled. A misery. A child with incisors. A soliciting child
Soliciting for a while for golden signs… along the Cyprus, Nile, miles from
With a defied conscience eager for recompense…
The mountains are my castles, the sand is my sea
I peril through the wilderness as it’s a part of me
I hear voices in the dark; feel pressure on my prayer rug
As I swing on a hammock between date palms, I drop bombs
I feel blisters beneath my feet as I sneak behind the enemy fleet
I fall sleep in the midst of battle before sirens and tanks owned by enemy ranks
Hit cloud nine with the smell of turpentine, nations wiped clean of filthy shrines
My teeth grind, my gums sting, my jaws flinch from and flame in chemical pain
And from all this. I confess I’ve become more sane
My backbones sprain from the tensions of unresolved game
I refuse to return home! Thrust open my wounds where my nerves have ruined
Rupture my skin where my membranes bare thinned
Tear my limbs that resist in abstinence
Here- taste the Truth through fists and slit throats –
And prefer this over death from slit wrists, pills, drunk and doped
Thank me later, for now, do what you will – let the noise persist!
Running in half excitement, half regret, index finger to sky, a bulletproof vest
I turn around – what can my enemies do to me if Allah has promised me success?
I waken with moistened eyes, tired and high off of unresolved life
Some dreams seem like real life; sometimes, life seems like a dream
I steel from the greedy the remnants of my fitrah and run into the dungeon of death
Jannah awaits!
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Tom@bizpacreview.com
The longest-tenured writer at BizPac Review, Tom grew up in Maryland before moving to Central Florida as a young teen. It is in the Sunshine State that he honed both his passion for politics and his writing skills.
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