How do Islamic extremists fire up the troops?
Poems about virgins, of course.
During a investigation into home-grown terrorists, the FBI monitored communication between two Boston Muslims, Tarek Mehanna and Ahmad Abousamra.
Mehanna would be charged with aiding al Qaeda and given 17 years in prison, Abousamra fled the US before arrest, and is now serving as chief propagandist for ISIS.
Abousamra posts beheading videos to the Internet, and promotes them on social media. He’s one of the FBI’s most wanted.
One of the messages between Mehanna and Abousamra was a 2008 poem written by Mehanna, describing the afterlife for a holy warrior.
The ode, which includes the promise of 72 virgins with “round and firm chests,” was distributed online. It still pops up to recruit Westerns to the life of jihad. It reads:
“Make Martyrdom What You Seek”
The bullets hit your hearts like the stings of a bee
You fall on your face as all you can see
Are the Gardens so wide when you’re put in the ground
You’ve been searching for years and now you have found
The Ultimate Prize, so sacred, so sweet.
Your bargain with your Lord is finally complete,
Because you are all martyrs without fear or grief
Who gave all you had for your precious belief,
You promised Him your souls and He promised you much more
Now you can enjoy what He’s kept in store
An endless reward for those who stood by
The covenant they made that towards death they would fly,
While graves burn the sinners and squeeze them so tight
You’re shown your places in the Garden, so spacious and bright,
On the Day when Great Terror shall steal all their words
Your souls will rest in the hearts of green birds,
Under the Great Throne with beauty beyond measure
At you ar-Rahmaan laughs, expressing his Pleasure,
Sufficient is this as a heavenly prize
But prepared for you is that never before seen by the eyes,
On your head is placed a crown, one jewel of which is worth
More than all of the jewels contained in this Earth,
You are brought to a gathering with companions so beautiful
The Prophets, the righteous and those who are truthful,
Al-Firdaws, where those of the Right Hand shall meet
Where the soil is white musk, so smooth and so sweet,
You scoop up a handful and throw it in the air
You are relaxed by the rivers flowing everywhere,
Water, milk and honey gushing forth non-stop
So thick and delicious you want to devour each drop,
You drink so much you almost end up falling
Into the flowing current, then you hear voices calling,
You turn and behold! The voices are singing
Coming from Maidens so fair and enchanting,
These are the Hoorees with round and firm chests
Pure untouched virgins, they’re better than the best,
Seventy-two in all, with large eyes of dark hue
Each one created especially for you,
They call our your name asking where you are
But to their disappointment, from the battles you are far,
Your heart is intoxicated by the pleasures of this life
Fear (of death) has wounded your manhood like a sharp knife,
A knife sharpened by the callers to Hell’s every door
Who pulled the sword from your hand and threw it to the floor,
And given you women, children and money instead
Convincing you ‘this is better than ending up dead’
But no! They are alive, rejoicing and provided for!
When asked what they desire, they will answer no more!
So be from the cream of this heavenly crop!
Shake off your fear and let your doubts drop!
Pick up the sword and grab your horse’s reins tight!
Throw off your armor and jump into the fight!
Make your path be none other than Islam’s high peak
Whose mountain is climbed by making death what you seek!
