2018 07 – Poems

THE SAD SANDS OF RAFAH

  • Why doesn’t the name of Iman al-Hams
  • ring out as loudly as that of Anne Frank.
  • Shot twice, then automatic fire point-blank,
  • a schoolgirl, 13, dies on Rafah Sands,
  • back October 5, 2004.
  • Anne, throughout the decades, is loved world-wide.
  • Iman? For fifteen seconds the world cried.
  • There was compassion but who closed the door.
  • The EU and the US have sanctions
  • against the oppressed Palestinians,
  • while Israel adds land to its dimensions.
  • Joshua calls from the millenniums,
  • sending in settlers for multiple theft.
  • No equality in life, less in death.
  • An Israeli army euphemism:
  • `Quickly approach and confirm the kill.’
  • Any wounded enemy fits the bill.
  • Dreaming, the watchtower looms into vision
  • Does she hear?: `Don’t shoot, it’s a little girl!’
  • A soldier doesn’t recognise the foe.
  • But his commander knows the status quo
  • and shatters this Palestinian pearl.
  • Southern Gaza, Rafah Refugee Camp:
  • Another day, another burial,
  • one more Israeli media revamp,
  • another life cast as ethereal.
  • First found a nation on biblical tomes
  • then ethnic cleanse and know that God condones.
  • The First Internal Investigation:
  • `Captain `R’ didn’t act unethically.’
  • (Truth, also shot, lies flat on its belly)
  • His wounded heart receives embrocation.
  • Second Internal Investigation:
  • `Captain `R’, a Druze, is a gun for hire!’
  • His unit loathes him, drags him through the mire.
  • But Death sings in any congregation.
  • `So, Captain `R’ killed a young teenager?’
  • `Yes, the girl died but it wasn’t murder.’
  • Compensation, promotion to Major,
  • with a good view of the Gaza border.
  • Iman’s dad listens to the legal gen:
  • `Keep dying, Palestinian children?’

Wilson John Haire.

ANOTHER DEATH ANOTHER SHEKEL

  •  Razan Al-Najjar, aged twenty-one
  •   a Gazan paramedic
  •  lies in bloodied sand
  •   killed by an Israeli sniper-gun.
  • Barely covered by the Western media
  •   yet Nurse Cavel runs and runs
  • in the British military encyclopaedia.
  •   Razan Al-Najjar
  • tends to the field of broken bodies
  •   beneath the gas clouds in this abattoir,
  • wired in as a chicken-run vassalage,
  •   wings clipped, fed on scraps,
  • can their politics be tea-at-the-vicarage.
  •   Razan Al-Najjar,
  • already forgotten by the West.
  •   Razan Al-Najjar,
  • for those who care
  •   in our hearts a permanent guest.

W. J. Haire.

FEAR

  • If you go to the jihadi barber today
  •   you could get your throat cut
  • they say.
  •   Don’t opt for a shave
  • if you have to go there
  •   for an open razor can’t always behave.
  • While the electric clippers
  •   buzzes around your head
  • you could keep thinking Jack-the-Ripper.
  •   A car outside roars down the street,
  • nervous glances backwards,
  •   no bodies yet for death to greet.
  • Here is a man from Iraq,
  •   keeps looking out of the window,
  • one customer only this morning,
  •   his business is a wreck,
  • his shop a reflection of Bagdad,
  •   leather settees, chromium chairs,
  • the apprenticed barber sits sad,
  •   his perfumed oils, his butterfly touch,
  • his charm of the souk
  •   wasted by an emotional putsch.

W.J.Haire.

 

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