May 25, 2013 by Sez
On a street near mine
There’s a little red brick mosque.
It’s been there years,
But recently a minaret appeared.
Like an old Sheffield nannan,
She knows her roots, but loves her life today.
A shopkeeper’s family lived in her once,
Sold flour and eggs and butter from her front
And hung ceramic ducks on her walls.
Which ring, now, with the prayers of the devout.
And she wears that red brick minaret
And that bright dome of steel
Like a new hijab
Over her pensioner’s shampoo and set.
She’s not like that flashy one with the big green dome,
She’s a proper deedar mosque.
This is the Islam that I know:
Part of my community,
Yorkshire and proud.
And I hope that old lady is safe tonight,
Not battered or insulted by the thugs
Who think they speak for me.