for the children of Palestine

oh – to be a child of Palestine 
where you are deemed “less-than” 
and equated with beast 
more so than a member of 
the human race— 

where poverty and unemployment are high 
and hunger is normal 
life restricted 
by barbed wire 
gunfire 
and foreign-power-supplied  
weaponry  

oh – to be a child of Palestine 
where blue skies mean terror 
and drone strikes 
where detainment is routine 
Aliy awaits trial 
it’s been 8 years, so any day now 
Ommi was shot in the street 
the IDF sends their regards 

the police called it accidental 
but i saw her spit on 
and called a whore 
where she lay dying, 
her mesh produce bag adrift 
in a crimson river 
the only sound after  
cacophonic gunfire 
a little boy crying 
desperate to revive  
what has already departed 
with no one left alive to claim him. 

oh – to be a child of Palestine 
where strangers from far-away lands brand you 
animal, terrorist, evil incarnate 
internationally produced propaganda  
commands the war of  
“light against dark” 
and retribution comes in 
the form of genocide: 

go anywhere else you like 
but you can’t stay here. 
we burned your monuments 
your holy mosques 
your hospitals 
your universities 
your sacred olive trees 
your women and children 
count your blessings and 

find somewhere else 
while we still let you 

23,000 30,000 dead  
and climbing 
it is all just a game 
to those playing with the toys 
that bury women and children 
that bomb hospitals 
holding war refugees 
leaving babies to rot 
before they have even 
had half a chance 
at a full breath of life 

oh – to be a child of Palestine 
where those in charge are wrong 
and no one is right 
where war is called “conflict” 
to mask the atrocities committed 
in the name of colonialism  
and the holy Profit 

who will be left 
when the dust settles 
what will remain 
among crumbling mortar 
and scorched earth 

what will become of the  
children of Palestine 
when there are no more 
Palestinian bodies 
left to bury 
when there are no people left 
who remember 
the baby martyrs 
sent to Jeddah 
long before their expected 
arrival date 

Allah, God, Buddha— 
the creators that be  
grieve 
for the lost children 
for the deaths of babies 
For those who survive  
one day 
only to be obliterated 
the next 
who deserved a fighting chance 
before the bombs fell 
turning all they would come to love 
into ash 

the ancestors weep. 

for what will become 
of palestine 
without the sound of 
children’s laughter 

what is survival 
if no hearts remain beating