Queens jihadist blood-thirsty words a chilling reminder of what we’re fighting

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!

The home where Queens jihadists were arrested

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…

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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