Depth.

Look at it.

It is a girl, although I see your face
you do not think that it is feminine,
more of a thing, a robot, a suicide machine.

Hands, face, hair all disappear
under her burka of self-hatred.
Oh, and a veil for her eyes.

Are you terrified?
Does this girl dream of unknown
lands and paradises, of

hand grenades and simple
elegies of terrorists, of philosophical
differences that damn her and you?

What plan does she follow?
What colour is her backpack
of petrol and gylcerine and
nails polished clean
to be painted red?

Worthless, all worthless.
All the tongues of hell
could pierce your skin

and attack your heart and mind
to cause them to smash their
Twin Towers of hate.

Oh, I do not blame you.
The media cast a shadow
of menace too. She is dangerous.

Behind a safe cage, she should be put
to safeguard our divine
views.

I too am afraid
when I see her reflection
in the stone cold truth
called a mirror, my mirror.

I really liked this - actually I loved it, and it was written from a really interesting point of view. I love how you managed to portray all the realistic implications and modern takes on terrorism that a lot of people think, but don't say; but the way in which you did it was that young Muslims can be forced into a situation that they don't want to be, based on religion.

I loved it. It had such sensitivity to it, and for me, I couldn't help but immensely pity the speaker of the poem.

But I especially loved
'What plan does she follow?
What colour is her backpack
of petrol and glycerine and
nails polished clean
to be painted red?'

and

'Oh, I do not blame you.
The media cast a shadow
of menace too. She is dangerous'.

I love it. It's really ... idk.