As he picked up the book
it seemed as heavy as his life;
and in the end,
it would all be alike.

He read feverishly
as if his life hung from it;
because in the end,
this was what would save him.

He knew as he read,
it was not his belief that mattered;
in the end,
it would all come down to what he uttered.

The day finally came,
which he had long dreaded.
He found himself in a line,
handcuffed and blindfolded.

As he stood among the dead,
with a gun to his head;
the masked man asked him to recite
what the holy book said.

He blurted out words
he had tried hard to learn,
as he looked for God,
in the barrel of the gun.

The gunman stepped back,
with a look of disdain,
satisfied with his words,
but not happy with his name.

He did not belong,
though he knew the verse.
He was not born like them,
and in the end, that would be his curse.

The man pulled the trigger,
and moved on in the line.
He cursed God as he fell;
in the end, the holy book couldn't save his life.

On the execution of non-Muslims by Islamic jihadists in the Middle East and in Africa.

[Disclaimer: This article reflects the writer's personal opinion and does not necessarily represent the views of IBTimes India.]