The Faithful Our Soldiers

 

Can a scowl be smug? It can be when it rests on the 

face of a megalomaniac convinced that the privileged 

puissance of his mission will encounter no obstacles 

too great for his energies of persuasion to transcend. 

The scowl is a permanent fixture, an outer reflection of a

deep-seated aversion to authority other than his

unquestioned own capable of storming the ramparts 

of reason and justice to forge his very own conquest 

in service to a sacred vision he has inherited from 

one to whom the mountain refused to move. To him

however, the mountain will shift accommodatingly 

in response to his skilled capabilities, his bellicose 

rhetoric, his belligerent threats, the very power and 

thrust of his unassailable argument of Islam as the

great slayer of false beliefs, the purveyor of peace 

in the raucous world of conflict. For as anyone with 

a single molecule of cerebral capacity is aware that in

the immortal words of Recep Tayyip Erdogan: The 

mosques are our barracks, the domes our helmets, 

the minarets our bayonets and the faithful our soldiers.  

Concise, clear and entirely reflective of the mission 

selflessly embarked upon by the man whose blessed

existence sparks the second coming of Mohammad.