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And there we wept: poem for Gaza’s children


Hush, little one

Make no sound

Though the bombs are falling

Your agonized screams drown

In the eerie death whistles

Of missiles as they strike

Down from the heavens

Man, in his sauvé sophistication

Has expropriated the wrath of god

Made it his own

Usurped the power to render judgment

And dispense punishment

Even unto matters of birth and murder

 

Funny how you figure

Your children are precious

Sacrosanct

Yet little ones of those

You call "Other" do not matter

They are sub-human, non-beings

Of no consequence for profitability

And therefore irrelevant

Bereft of the right to prosper

Any decent chance to live.

 

Go back, my child

This is not a good time

For you to arrive.

Go back and tell them

It’s better to wait

 

Please stop your screaming

For it’ll do no good

I know the pain is maddening

Especially since you can’t understand

You’ve no way to comprehend

What is happening to you

Much less why.

 

We hold ourselves responsible

Because we drew you forth.

It seemed like a natural impulse

At the time

But now the horizon is on fire

I guess the power tripping

And the money stashing

Have finally driven them all mad

Completely berserk

Out of control at last

I wonder if we’ll survive

The final blast

And find myself concluding

It’d be better if we didn’t.

 

We are sorry, child

For bringing you into a world

Riddled with so much pain

A nightmare for the living

Created by the insane

Your shrieks are in vain

All your anger stirs

Not a single complaint

From the all-powerful

The neo-whatever priesthood

Who laugh in the face of love.

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