Thus only in the failing hour of our enraged phantom
did we stand witness to the omens of its raging dawn;
t’was anxious in its light, and terrible in its ascension,
as ‘then’ lay decayed mocked by a ‘now’ it stood upon.
Fate as such, when roams unbound by moral or reason
roams unfound by none but the merchants of chaos;
we, who shall not forget, the flags of whitened treason
and by virtue peace fore our virtue of mad disgrace.
Of life who bears the burden, who
of liberty sought must carry too.
By nations, dubbed who is a mother,
of freedom, dubbed a lover true.
With no home who roams the valley
gathering olives from Nablus’ fields
lights its bark to kindle her galley
which victuals for her unborn yields.
Of Gaza, its soul, is barred this dove,
to violence returns a rebellion of love,
shall birthen when our dream unknown,
she, the Ramz al Sumud our own.
When I bleed, they only wish to see a drop of red,
not to hear my screams, not to bury the thousands dead.
When I suffer, they only wish to take my home it seems,
but they take away my hope, my spirits, my dreams.
When they kill my innocent children, our sons and daughters,
and their unknowing blood turns red the flowing waters,
they expect us only to whince, mourn and then turn away
but feel the scales of justice, unto us they finally sway.
The day of reckoning is far away, but coming nonetheless,
the bell that tolls we may not hear, but it tolls somewhere incess’
Tie these hands, you must fear them surely,
burn this skin, you must hate it sorely,
Am I not human, just as you, persecuted though, but just the same?
demons in hell have suffered less, and faced not the dreaded shame,
every day a hopeful reprise, the hope to leave this awful place,
where the dead must mourn the living left, where soil and flesh embrace.
I am the child of Sarajevo, have you seen my rose?
carved in concrete memoirs, does it not impose?
a question as to how so many died, but no one heard a sound,
for the dead know only how to sleep, in graveyards unbound.
I am a mother Palestinian, have you seen my baby?
I lost it today, or yesterday, is it alive still? maybe….
gaza is a wall of martyrs, perhaps he is another brick,
and how each day they raise it further, it only makes me sick.
I am the corpse of Sudan, where is my sweet Babylon?
has it drowned in the tears of centuries, or vanished in the wait of dawn?
where is my fellow man, where is the angel of death?
enough of this living and dying, enough of these wasted breaths!
Poems & People 