A mystical, poignant and chilling tale about three hidden saints who have to face great adversity, danger and menace in the modern day.



Not My Business


“So long as they don’t take the yam from my savouring mouth.” Niyi Osundare


They firebombed the tomb of Al Rifai

All that remained was mounds of rubbles in piles,

But what business is it to me and to my ilk?

As long as they’ve purged the bida and shirk.


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Are You Ready Brother?


The young man, clad in his combat uniform, sat up crossed-legged on his temporary bed, leaning back against the wall. He picked up a blue exercise book which lay by his side: his diary. The tip of an AK47 stuck out from under the bed and through the window opposite, a black flag, printed with the iconic stamp, flapped and shivered in the wind. The flag was wrapped around a metal pole which was attached to the white, bullet-ridden minaret of a burnt out mosque.

He looked at the first sentences that he had written on the page:

Why am I doing this? Well, there are several reasons.

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Watch Out For The Mozlamics!


Get indoors!

And lock em quick!

Watch out for the Mozlamics!


First they’ll wrap yer in a burka!

Then they’ll make you eat samosa!

Their Sharon Law will make you sick!

Watch out for the Mozlamics!


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You Can Bomb Us


You can bomb us from the land, the air and rolling sea!
You can bomb us while we sit at home with a cup of tea!
You can bomb us in the markets and in the dusty lanes!
You can bomb us on the sandy beach and promenade!
You can bomb us even if we are just little kids!
You can bomb us even if we’re old and invalids!
You can bomb our houses, bomb our schools and hospitals!
You can bomb our sheep, our goats, our tents and cute kittens!
We will build our homes, our schools, our parks, our roads again!
We will fill our markets, fill our shops and streets again!
We will grow our crops and feed our goats and sheep again!
We will shed a tear for those of us you killed again!
We will bury them in the searing earth and soil again!
We will live our lives in the flattened streets and dust again!
You can bomb us, maim us, starve us, leaving carcasses!
We will build and grow and thrive and gain our right, JUSTICE!




Stirring up

Impatient, insidious


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Trojan Horse? More Like Scapegoat Cast Onto the Azazel of Assimilation

The popular media coverage and the whistle-blowing in the “trojan horse” saga ring of such misunderstandings and misconceptions, that they are guilty of, unwittingly or otherwise, misguiding the public. To the public, the westro-centric press are misrepresenting a dogged, determined goat, as a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a religion of peace that hides within its shell hordes of misogynists, creationists and puritans, itching to infiltrate, to break out and invade our empire of freedom. But in reality, what the media and officials have really done is to grab hold of the goat by its goatee and lead it to oblivion as an offering, in the hope that some positivist epiphany and blessing will rain down upon Birmingham and Britain, bringing down an epoch of multi-cultural love of Britishness and secular democracy. The gods of progress yearn for their sacrifices.

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A Speech for Freedom


My dear beloved friends and colleagues,

We are gathered here once again to confront evil, like the time when we united to confront and triumph over the spectre of Hitler’s Germany. We are gathered here again to stand up for the cause of freedom, for the hope of freedom, for our god-given ability to determine our lives for ourselves and for our children. We are gathered here again, ladies and gentlemen, we are united here, we are one and will remain one, the same way as we did when we fought off those nefarious Nazis and blew them out of their panzers and their headquarters, kicking their mission for a Nazi hell-on-earth into the depths of oblivion! We are gathered here once again dear friends!

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Ayyaan Kirshi Wali and the Majdhoob


One night, after a sell-out conference, entitled: “Female, Apostate and Proud”, Ayyaan Kirshi Wali strolled towards her car in the car park outside the convention centre, when her attention was drawn by a most singular woman.

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Before, I thought it all a hopeless mess

Imagined all a helpless cry of distress

Considered all a hapless guess

Rejected all a heartless process

Abandoned all, a homeless essence

Until I found it All a hidden blessing

Discovered All a hopeful beginning

Accepted All a history of genesis

Unveiled to All a heavenly gnosis