The whole of Palestine has turned into a sea.
The sea is just another dead poet. Just another
martyr.
The sea knows death and speaks its
language fluently,
for death has now become its mother-tongue.
Each wave has turned the graveyard over.
Bodies and the skeletons of children, the
skulls of birds, kittens and dogs have spilled
out of coffins. Who wants to think of their nearest
Macdonald's in war, getting hamburgers in war?
The Biden-administration? Blinken?
What happened to every wave in that sea, you
just might ask?
They turned into dead poets and their words.
But wait, I am repeating myself. But didn't
you know, that in a blink of an eye one ghost
can haunt you and a nation can disappear
without a trace, whole countries, whole
open air prisons, and children too. This is what it
feels like to be a memory. Just an empty shell
casing, an airstrike, bombs falling, pouring
down like rain. Smoke, rubble and the dead.
In war, even the dead remember. They have a
memory too while the living struggle to just
survive an apartheid in a brave new world.
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