The Vanishing Koran Poem by Thomas Rickarby

Dedicated to the eight burnt dead of Gojra.

Who knew that ink and paper
could matter more than human flesh?
Perhaps those Christian boys-
who should have been accused, instead,
of helping time to pass.
As though they’d sent the cracking leaves
through every autumn, all at once.

It all leaves after time.
No less homes and people
which are too vulnerable to fire,
to holy fire that stinks of petrol,
that's bottled up in glass.