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John Walker Lindh, the U.S. citizen who joined the Taliban in mid-2001 and was captured in November of that year by U.S. forces as an enemy combatant in Afghanistan in 2001, is set to be released from prison in May 2019, after serving a 20-year sentence. The news of his upcoming release was criticized by the mother of American journalist James Foley, whose 2014 beheading by the Islamic State (ISIS) was filmed and disseminated widely on social media. She said: "I don't think he should be released if he is going to continue to sow hate and terrorism around the world." As of May 2016, according to a report in Foreign Policy magazine, Lindh "continues to advocate for global jihad and to write and translate violent extremist texts."
Three Poems By John Walker Lindh
An Islamist organization devoted to supporting Guantanamo Bay detainees and other prisoners held on charges of terrorism posted, on September 23, 2010, three poems that it said it received from John Walker Lindh.
Each of the poems is signed "Abu Sulayman Al-Irlandi, Detainee #001," and dated Ramadan 1431 (i.e., August-September 2010). "Al-Irlandi" means "the Irishman," and the poems themselves contain additional nods to Lindh's Irish heritage, including a reference to himself as "a Mussulman [i.e. Muslim] Paddy."
The first poem, "The Ballad Of The Fleas," is about the war in Afghanistan, and depicts the Americans as callous Crusaders, their local allies as un-Islamic hypocrites, and the Taliban as noble soldiers who have been unjustly maligned: "For wolves may foam and bark and bite / And gnash and gnaw and hiss / But if a sheep should dare bite back / He'd be a terrorist." The second poem, "Ode To Omar Khadr," is dedicated to Omar Khadr, a Guantanamo Bay detainee accused of having been a teenage Al-Qaeda operative. Much of this poem deals with alleged misconduct in Khadr's detention and trial: "I end with a message to every oppressor / To each gavel-grasping bench-squatting cross-dresser / As you judge you'll be judged and my closing remark is / A victory jig on the back of your carcass." The third poem, "A Mussulman Paddy's Epistle To Barry," is addressed to President Obama, and uses an inversion of Revolutionary War-era imagery to promise him defeat in Afghanistan: "So lie on the ground like a parcel of noodles / And sing how the Yankees were beat by Pushtoodles [i.e., the Pushtun]."
"One Fateful Autumn Thus They Came / With Vengeance As Their Code"
The Ballad Of The Fleas
It's said that black death spread by fleas
On backs of rats they rode
One fateful autumn thus they came
With vengeance as their code
Like blight they spread from crags to plains
To hilly dusty turf
To rocky lunar landscapes 'neath
The rooftop of the earth
They hid behind the highest clouds
To fly as swift as sound
With daisy cutters cluster bombs
And spies upon the ground
Their leader stepped out swaggering
Declaring a crusade
He called the world to follow him
And most of them obeyed
For wolves may foam and bark and bite
And gnash and gnaw and hiss
But if a sheep should dare bite back
He'd be a terrorist
The knights of Malta raised their spears
The knights Templars came next
The rabble cheered them in the streets
Priests quoted Bible texts
Their quislings all crawled out to them
Each kneeled to give his oath
They squealed and cried "Islam is peace"
But disbelieved in both
They ushered ashen donkeys forth
Jackasses bearing scrolls
They brayed in fervent fever pitch
For dollar bills in rolls
The words they spoke those days were such
That had he known their name
Old Abdullah Ibnu Ubayy
Would cringe and blush in shame
They send their drones to level homes
And blow up wedding feasts
They heap more arms in warlords' hands
To spread democracy
"If They But Knew That With Each Act / Of Torture And Abuse / Around The Neck Of Uncle Sam / They Tighten Up The Noose"
They roam at night to break down doors
To search and strip and rape
To bind and kidnap anyone
To shoot those who escape
With muzzles full of lofty talk
Free speech and human rights
They drive out millions from their land
And say it's worth the price
An aid worker clerk or farmer
Sold like a modern slave
Gets beaten by their boots and guns
And thrown into a cage
He's sat upon and spat upon
Broke by the brave and free
By brave crusaders brave and bold
As brave as brave can be
If they but knew that with each act
Of torture and abuse
Around the neck of Uncle Sam
They tighten up the noose
Mirages in the distance glow
Lads line up in the queue
As one more body bag comes back
Hid from the public view
A blistered bloated jarhead face
Deep purple findernails [sic]
A smell seeps out that's foul enough
To cleanse a man's entrails
Their rulers lurch and boast and strut
But keep far from the fray
They swoon and quake from fear to tread
Where lurking lions lay
"Where Stars And Stripes And Union Jacks / And NATO Flags Once Flew / Black Banners Rise In Khurasan / In Hands Of Every Hue"
As tawheed's caravan moves on
And marches in the dusk
The crimson wound of one of them
Emits the scent of musk
To rule God's earth by God's own law
They sacrifice their lives
They spill their lifeblood willingly
Until God's help arrives
Although victory entices them
What soothes them even more
Is hope to enter gardens lush
With honey milk and hur
Where stars and stripes and Union Jacks
And NATO flags once flew
Black banners rise in Khurasan
In hands of every hue
Just as how warsteeds' coats are cleaned
And purged of lice and fleas
The cavalcade of martyrs fights
An empire to its knees
All praise and thanks are due to God
To Him alone they bowed
And peace be on His messenger
Whose face beams in his shroud
Ode To Omar Khadr
An avuncular man whose sole name is Sam is
Inscribing his memoirs in history's annals
His quill dips and scribbles lifts and scribbles some more
With a fist to his jaw and shibshibs on the floor
His inkwell runs dry so he rises to fill it
From a flask of fresh blood that's corked by a bullet
He sits right back down and starts scratching the pad
To write of an innocent bright faced young lad
Top brasses spray spittle with all of their curses
"He's worse than the worst of the worst of the worstest
He's worse than a storm-trooping Third Reich cadet
More wicked than Eichmann more than Pinochet
He endangers our freedom if he's left alone
He's spent more years in prison than Big Al Capone
We must needs make hast to hoist Khadr on the gibbet
He threatens our country and all that's within it"
He was just a wee lad in the fine town of Khost
From a high noble family that feared God the most
Always good to his father a hardworking man
True and sweet to his mum and beloved to his clan
When down from the clouds a most foul beast alighted
And out of its bowels plopped a doughboy excited
All wild-eyed and yelling then out squeezed another
'Midst gunfire and shelling they nabbed our wee brother
When they saw his round face they shot twice out of fright
Then they plucked out his eye in display of their spite
They tied up his limbs though his mind was unconscious
Feed him to the beast…
And behold as it launches…
"I End With A Message To Every Oppressor / To Each Gavel-Grasping Bench-Squatting Cross-Dresser / As You Judge You'll Be Judged And My Closing Remark Is / A Victory Jig On The Back Of Your Carcass"
They flew him to Bagram which lies north of Kabul
Locked him in a cage though he scarcely could hobble
They threatened to rape our young friend in a prison
(For 'tis don't you know an old Yankee tradition)
They drugged our young hero with needles and potions
And sent him blindfolded past mountains and oceans
A black hole on land that they'd bagged from the Cubans
Became his new home as they hacked him to ribbons
Comes now His Dishonour's sleek sable abaya
The ladylike robes of his silky attire
"Boy we grant you your freedom and cherish your rights
Now confess boy you know you done wrong in our sights
You hold in your heart a plumb evil religion
Your face has the same savage shade as an injun
You know you done wrong boy now speak to My Honor!
A sand-nigger's place is a grave or a slammer!"
I end with a message to every oppressor
To each gavel-grasping bench-squatting cross-dresser
As you judge you'll be judged and my closing remark is
A victory jig on the back of your carcass
"Ye See Now Ye Yankees How Much Ye're Mistaken / For Kabul By Rabble Can Never Be Beaten"
A Mussulman Paddy's Epistle To Barry
Och Barry it seems ye're but yahoos and fools
With your brains in your breeches your drawers in your skulls
Get home with your flintlocks and put up your swords
And look in your books for the meaning of words
Ye see now ye Yankees how much ye're mistaken
For Kabul by rabble can never be beaten
How brave ye went out with your muskets all bright
And thought to be-frighten the folks with the sight
But when ye got there how they slaughter'd your chums
And all the way home how they pepper'd your bums
And 'tis not yet Yankees a comical crack
To be proud in the face and be shot in the back
"So Lie On The Ground Like A Parcel Of Noodles / And Sing How The Yankees Were Beat By Pushtoodles"
We were truly tickl'd by all your grand speeches
If only ye'd tarried to do some researches
For 'twas quite odd ye fancied they did not know how
To be after their firelocks as smartly as yous
Why ye see now ye Yankees 'tis nothing at all
But to pull at the trigger and pop goes the ball
O'Bama 'tis one thing to be full of hope
But to ride in your Humvees on bridges of rope
And send out your wee'uns in full fightin' gear
When they hear the takbir they pass water for fear
And look at ye now buildin' bridges to hell
Did ye think ye'd outdo the great Fionn mac Cumhaill?
And what have ye got now for all your designin'?
A Homeland without victuals to sit down and dine in
So lie on the ground like a parcel of noodles
And sing how the Yankees were beat by Pushtoodles
I'm sure if ye're wise ye'll repent like a sinner
For if ye keep fightin' ye won't be the winner
 Usnews.com/news/national-news/articles/2019-03-21/american-taliban-john-walker-lindh-set-for-release-from-prison, March 21, 2019.
 Foxnews.com/us/slain-journalist-james-foleys-mom-john-walker-lindh-should-not-be-released-to-sow-hate-and-terrorism, March 21, 2019.
 Foreignpolicy.com/2017/06/23/john-walker-lindh-detainee-001-in-the-global-war-on-terror-will-go-free-in-two-years-what-then/, June 23, 2017.
 Cageprisoners.com/our-work/alerts/item/611-update-john-walker-lindh, September 23, 2010.
 'Abdallah Ibn Ubayy was a contemporary of the Prophet Muhammad considered in Muslim tradition to be the archetypical munafiq ("hypocrite"), that is, one who outwardly converts to Islam but inwardly harbors enmity towards it.
 Tawhid, sometimes translated as "monotheism," is the Islamic doctrine of the unity of Allah.
 According to Muslim traditions, the scent of musk is a sign of martyrdom.
 The hur, or hur al-'ayn, are the virgins of paradise promised to martyrs.
 Khurasan is a classical Arabic toponym corresponding roughly to today's Afghanistan.
 The abaya is a black women's garment; the term is used here as a mocking reference to a judge's robes.
 Regarding this poem, Lindh wrote in his letter to Cageprisoners: "Note that the poem 'A Mussulman...' is not an entirely original composition; rather, it was based on a poem from the American Revolutionary War called 'The Irishman's Epistle to the Officers and Troops at Boston' which was published anonymously in 1775."
 Takbir is the cry "Allah Akbar!"