An anonymous African poet’s lament for the people of Palestine:
Jerusalem, 2021
I saw thousands of prayers rise up like flares
nightly, o’er an iron dome
Then dozens of souls, the young and the old
dispatched by hearts colder than stone
The Prophets gathered on mount and valley
In spirit and deep in the bones
As Pharaohs parade in Moses’ clothes,
new Edomites tear down old homes1
The spirit of God moves over the gas
that’s made tears flow into salt seas
The Temple Mount groans, Aqsa’s boulders moan
and even the olive trees weep
How can we sing the old songs of joy
in lands without justice or peace?
Above the flood, doves’ cries echo in deeps
At Hope and Love bound and slaughtered like sheep
And butchered, or shot in bed while asleep
Across the land, blood’s spilled, plague’s rot still creeps
Those scarred outside stand, struggle, starve, and watch
as those scarred inside sit and feast
The missiles’ red glare, the hate in the air
puts to shame all the wild beats
How long, O God, on the earth of Mi’raj
will our justice seem just but a mirage?
The thirsty crowd ’round and find naught but You
but where is Your reckoning, so swift and true?2
The balance seems all torn apart and askew
How can they hide what is in such clear view?
On one side, it’s collateral, on one, it’s tragedy
Oppression’s clouds swarm all around, but gather in valleys
The sun’s hiding her face in shame, moon’s scarred by what he’s seen
And this crop that’s been sown in blood, will reap ruin’s blazing sheafs
And if good for the cause, they’d try to shoot Buraq down from the sky
The perfumed stones, pines, sparkling eyes may not yet wither on the vine
But when will concrete cages, walls all crumble into dust and fly?
When will the lightning answer the thund’rous chorus of grieving sighs?
And in the face of this unyielding pain
we look to the skies and pray for Your rain
In this year of Alif doubled Kaf3
we seek refuge with the people of Kahf4
Before the day when You unveil Your calf5
Deliver us from Your fury and wrath
And all of the worshippers of golden calves6
One body the believers are, and so if I forget
my siblings’ cries in Palestine, may I forget my left
if we forget those living shrines
who stubbornly refuse death’s lies
may my right hand forget its skill
and strength, for they are mine.
1: a reference to Pslam 137 here, in the next stanza, and the last stanza
2: a reference to Qur’an 24:39
3: ك ك ا=2021
4: The companions of the Cave (Qur’an 18)
5: Qur’an 68:42
6: Qur’an 7:148-153
Rana Razek, Sally Howell, and I invite you to ur panel on race and religion in the Arab American Midwest. Thursday, May 27, 9 am on Zoom. It's free. Link and abstracts below. #sschat#amrel#arab#Islam
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