By Jimmy Bangash My people want me dead Because I love another man And as I reach out for his hand I must remember it’s Shaytan And that this lifestyle is Haraam My people prize their honour Above sister, mother, brother Above any illicit lover Fake sham marriages instead. My people want me dead Or they want me celibate As they discuss my cock in mosque And muse upon my use of tool Which orifice, with whom? So I internalise this shame Because my people prize their honour…
My People Want Me Dead
