Marching in a protest against the occupation of Palestine always, always keeps me wordless. And I am a wordy woman. On normal days. When I forget where I come from.
I think I just found my words. I went to Suheir Hammad. I mixed her voice with my wordless scream. Like a mute thunder. Her words give me voice. Always.
__________
Palestine.
… Because I come from somewhere
I come from some people
Us who put our lives on the line
I don’t want to hurt nobody
God knows
How do I tell American Youth that popular culture means nothing to Justice
And everything to keeping them numb to the world
How do I scream
When I have no voice left
Who will answer me
Even I -- it seems -- have developed a callousness to the deaths of Palestinians
There are people who say I am not supposed to go there
To Palestine. I am North American. Stay here.
No passport. No citizenship. No money. No power will keep you alive.
This is not a poem. This is not a treat. This is a promise
I will chant the names of the innocent
I will stand with those who have kept their hands clean of blood
And their hearts clear of hate
It is hard not to hate right now
But I have been loved. I have loved.
She is dead now. Our bride in white. And the ocean will miss her gaze.
Her family will miss her breath.
Palestine.
5 comments:
Laki ALLAH YA GAZA
It is indeed a sad situation.... I want to share the below poem with you...
Katyusha, Katyusha by Sean O'Brien
Katyusha, Katyusha,
Arrow of fire:
Kingdom Come, is it
Below or above?
Choked in a tunnel
With morphine and bread,
Or charred in the wreck
Of an olive grove?
Katyusha, Katyusha,
Spear of desire,
Are there green pastures,
A brave desert rose,
Or must it be prison
With pillars of flame?
Katyusha, Katyusha,
A grave, or a rose?
Katyusha, Katyusha,
God only knows.
So sad
Sad. Thanks for sharing!
I am just as speechless. What can be said?! Why are we talking instead of doing?
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