The Cross Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

The Cross
It six o`clock Sunday early evening she is in
the church that looks Coptic, the sun lit up
the cross on the top and the roof looks rosé.
A Morocco radio station plays Arabic music
this is quite fitting now that they have been
targeted by a racist who has not read history,
but let us put that aside for now.

In many European countries, the leaders lament
but secretly wish they could do the same, life would
be so easier without this intrusive Islam.
We, onlookers, are guilty too we have not been able
to accept the Muslims on equal terms
The cross is now in darkness there is a murky side
to all religions they produce extremists