Remi Kanazi – A Poem for Gaza
by Remi Kanazi, http://www.remikanazi.com
A wonderful poetry who make you think, and suffer. We have no answer to war, colonialism, violence. But our dry pens… perhaps one day will find their ink.
Boycotting Israel is our peaceful answer to war and violence. And Anti-Zionism is a must.
I never knew
death
death
until I saw
the bombing
the bombing
of a refugee
camp
camp
craters
filled with
dismembered legs
and
splattered torsos
splattered torsos
but no sign
of a face
of a face
the only
impression
impression
a fading
scream
scream
I never
understood pain
understood pain
until a
seven-year-old girl
seven-year-old girl
clutched my
hand
hand
stared up at
me
me
with soft
brown eyes
brown eyes
waiting for
answers
answers
I didn’t
have any
have any
I had muted
breath
breath
and dry pens
in my back pocket
in my back pocket
that
couldn’t fill pages
couldn’t fill pages
of
understanding or resolution
understanding or resolution
in her other
hand
hand
she held a
key
key
to her
grandmother’s house
grandmother’s house
but I
couldn’t unlock the cell
couldn’t unlock the cell
that caged
her older brothers
her older brothers
they said:
we slingshot
dreams
dreams
so the other
side
side
will feel
our father’s presence!
our father’s presence!
a craftsman
built homes
in areas
in areas
where no one
was building
was building
when he fell
silence
a .50
caliber bullet
caliber bullet
tore through
his neck
his neck
shredding
his vocal cords
his vocal cords
too close to
the wall
the wall
his hammer
must have
been a weapon
been a weapon
he must have
been a weapon
been a weapon
encroaching
on settlement hills
on settlement hills
and
demographics
demographics
so his
daughter
daughter
studies
mathematics
mathematics
seven
explosions
explosions
times
eight bodies
equals
four
congressional resolutions
congressional resolutions
seven Apache
helicopters
helicopters
times
eight
Palestinian villages
Palestinian villages
equals
silence and
a second Nakba
a second Nakba
our
birthrate
birthrate
minus
their
birthrate
birthrate
equals
one sea and
400 villages re-erected
400 villages re-erected
one state
plus
two peoples
…and she
can’t stop crying
can’t stop crying
never knew
revolution
revolution
or the
proper equation
proper equation
tears at the
paper
paper
with her
fingertips
fingertips
searching
for answers
for answers
but only has
teachers
teachers
looks up to
the sky
the sky
to see Stars
of David
of David
demolishing
squalor
squalor
with
Hellfire missiles
Hellfire missiles
she thinks
back
back
words and
memories
memories
of his last
hug
hug
before he
turned and fell
turned and fell
now she
pumps
pumps
dirty water
from wells
from wells
while
settlements
settlements
divide and
conquer
conquer
and her
father’s killer
father’s killer
sits
beachfront
beachfront
with
European vernacular
European vernacular
this is our
land!, she said
land!, she said
she’s seven
years old
years old
this is our
land!
land!
she doesn’t
need history books
need history books
or a
schoolroom teacher
schoolroom teacher
she has
these walls
these walls
this sky
her refugee
camp
camp
she doesn’t
know the proper equation
know the proper equation
but she sees
my dry pens
my dry pens
no longer
waiting for my answers
waiting for my answers
just holding
her grandmother’s key
her grandmother’s key
searching
for ink
I never knew death
until I saw the bombing
of a refugee camp
craters
filled with
dismembered legs
and splattered torsos
but no sign of a face
the only impression
a fading scream
I never understood pain
until a seven-year-old girl
clutched my hand
stared up at me
with soft brown eyes
waiting for answers
I didn’t have any
I had muted breath
and dry pens in my back pocket
that couldn’t fill pages
of understanding or resolution
in her other hand
she held a key
to her grandmother’s house
but I couldn’t unlock the cell
that caged her older brothers
they said:
we slingshot dreams
so the other side
will feel our father’s presence!
a craftsman
built homes in areas
where no one was building
when he fell
silence
a .50 caliber bullet
tore through his neck
shredding his vocal cords
too close to the wall
his hammer
must have been a weapon
he must have been a weapon
encroaching on settlement hills
and demographics
so his daughter
studies mathematics
seven explosions
times
eight bodies
equals
four congressional resolutions
seven Apache helicopters
times
eight Palestinian villages
equals
silence and a second Nakba
our birthrate
minus
their birthrate
equals
one sea and 400 villages re-erected
one state
plus
two peoples
…and she can’t stop crying
never knew revolution
or the proper equation
tears at the paper
with her fingertips
searching for answers
but only has teachers
looks up to the sky
to see Stars of David
demolishing squalor
with Hellfire missiles
she thinks back
words and memories
of his last hug
before he turned and fell
now she pumps
dirty water from wells
while settlements
divide and conquer
and her father’s killer
sits beachfront
with European vernacular
this is our land!, she said
she’s seven years old
this is our land!
she doesn’t need history books
or a schoolroom teacher
she has these walls
this sky
her refugee camp
she doesn’t know the proper equation
but she sees my dry pens
no longer waiting for my answers
just holding her grandmother’s key
searching
for ink
– See more at: http://www.remikanazi.com/poems.aspx?title=A+Poem+for+Gaza#.VgKeD90ozIU
