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A Poem for Palestine

Baby Martyr

I’m six and seven
And up to eleven,

Then I’m an adult
In an Israeli court

My hands tied in the back of my back
He comes to me with a punch and a sack.

He covers my head with a hood of Zionist stench
Though my belly is tough, it will not flinch.

The noise is loud and pierces my brain.
My pathetic shirt hangs proud with a fresh blood stain.

My poor mother is worried sick, I’m sure.
She burried my brother before me. She will endure.

And my dad too, depression got him in the end
With no home, no land, no olive trees to tend.

I’m in here for days on end
Or is it months or even years, I no longer comprehend.

The noise is too loud
And I can feel the shroud.

He beats me again today
Then its another’s turn to play.

I’m broken now, but I’ll not confess.
I’ll leave my body, let those murdering bastards clean up the mess.

A few more thoughts before I go
I am human. This you must know.
You’d never know it `cause I’m tough as the rocks I throw.

I had hoped to grow a mustache so fine.
Maybe marry Muna. I’d be hers and she’d be mine
Maybe be a father….our children free in Palestine.

                                                                                           by Susan Abulhawa

Blog About Palestine Day



12 Responses

  1. wow

  2. really touchy! thanks for sharing.

  3. When Arabs can openly advocate being pro-Israel without fear of being executed by their fellow Arabs, then I will soften my heart to the pleadings of such poetry. Not before.

  4. wow. “I’ll leave my body, let those murdering bastards clean up the mess” — speechless.

  5. Thanks for sharing …

    keep it up!

  7. truth,those spastics dont deserve to kill but deserve to be killed!!!

  8. hey, i dont like that face

  9. not again

  10. oh,by the way,
    great poem
    !!!keep up the good work

  11. nice words can u vist our blog and be our friend>>>

  12. wow im sooo speechless..very beautiful poem

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