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In Memory Of A People With A Land

by Soraya Boyd
Tuesday, January 8th, 2013

A wailing poignancy tearing at the very heart of a much troubled core
Drenched in a blood soaked landscape incessantly scarred by murderous lore
Powerfully bearing witness to insatiably violent gratuitous gore
No-where to escape from the invasive putrid sore
No-thing but wrought brutality and slaughter oozing from every pore
 

The weighted thundering silent haste of marching troops
Trampling savage echoes of sordid homicidal boots
Oblivious to the maddening wanton trail let fly indiscriminate shoots
Confining the grief-stricken captive air in deathly coops
Whilst uprooted ancient olive trees deeply weep for their severed roots

 

High up above skies infinite presaging coloured azure tones
Speedily bring forth unrelenting buzzing of deadly drones
From the depth of dread incomprehensible an innocent affrighted babe soundlessly groans
While the sanguined entrails of the land itself emit heart wrenching moans
A bereft generational repository mournfully binds together blood, tears and broken bones

Palestine

A Palestinian elderly woman collects olives from broken olive tree branches in the village of Qusra, northern West Bank, Tuesday, Oct. 9, 2012. (AP Photo/Nasser Ishtayeh)

Soraya Boyd is Founder and CEO of Facilitate Global. She can be contacted at soraya.boyd@facilitateglobal.org

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Posted by on January 8, 2013. Filed under Palestine,Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.

2 Responses to In Memory Of A People With A Land

  1. Blake

    January 9, 2013 at 9:09 pm

    ‘Solidarity’ should not be supremacist charity: The best definition of the word yet

    http://smpalestine.com/2013/01/09/solidarity-should-not-be-supremacist-charity-the-best-definition-of-the-word-yet/

  2. Blake

    January 13, 2013 at 11:14 pm

    When I was seven, Jesus cried…

    Posted on January 11, 2013 by nahida the Exiled Palestinian

    When I was seven
    I was living
    In a beautiful village
    North of Jerusalem
    Near the heart of Palestine

    I used to play
    Where Jesus used to pray
    I ran up the hills
    Where he used to walk
    Listening through the wind
    To the echo of his talk
    “Oh, children of God,
    Love one another”

    A man of Palestine
    Gentle, kind, and giving
    A true prince of peace
    Ever so loving…

    Up above my head
    White fluffy clouds
    Slept all day
    On my blue sky’s lap

    I used to lie down
    Jumping with my soul
    Up in to heaven
    Weaving with the clouds
    Snow white and teddy bears

    I’d make up stories
    Dressed up as a princess
    Dancing with the fairies
    Flying on the wings
    Of a pure white bird

    With a magical brush
    That no one could see
    I painted the world
    With colours of the rainbow

    I flew wiping tears away
    Of every human face
    Putting a big smile
    Right in their place

    I spoke every language
    With no words at all
    With all words of love
    They answered my call

    Every drop of water
    Every grain of sand
    Every green leaf
    Felt God’s loving hand

    white bird

    UNTIL
    One summer day
    My life was turned
    Up-side down

    My peaceful world
    SUDDENLY .. ran away
    Leaving me to drown
    Shivering all alone
    In the grave-yard of town

    THE SIX-DAY WAR
    EVER SO CRUEL
    The army of Zion
    Marched ready to fight
    Crushing us with bombs
    Proud of all their might

    Stealing our country
    Was a “ God given right”
    Killing.. maiming.. destroying
    “CHOSEN”, so it’s all right
    Bombing peaceful towns

    All night and day
    Killing young children
    So, no longer to play

    Tearing clouds apart
    Scaring them away
    Burning innocent lives
    Chasing dreams away

    Filled with shame and guilt
    Of Hitler’s holocaust

    Followers of Christ
    People of the west
    Cheered .. rejoiced ..hurray
    To a cheap victory

    While Jesus was weeping
    Crying out loud
    The murder of his children
    And the rape of his land
    When I was seven
    Jesus cried
    Ever so hard ! !

    http://nahidaexiledpalestinian.wordpress.com/2013/01/11/when-i-was-seven-jesus-cried/

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