“Our freedom is incomplete without the freedom of the Palestinians.”
Nelson Mandela
I hear skeletons calling out
from the
other side of a darkened room.
I will
not sleep tonight.
There is
another kind of war,
the war
inside a man, where all wars begin.
Terror
blooms in the ghettos of Palestine.
Children
sleep with dust in their beds.
Their
cries like the seeds of fish
are
taken up into the clouds.
Rockets
flare out of the Gaza strip.
The law
has hooks for hands, it is not delicate,
it does
not have a surgeon's touch.
It cuts
and rips into the bone.
The dead
fly over Israeli checkpoints,
out of
the occupied territories.
The
candles have been snuffed out
but the
sorrow remains.
Children
sleep with dust in their beds.
Their
cries like the seeds of fish
are
taken up into the clouds.
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