About Palestine... its pain and suffering and the boy looking for is best friend |
I can see the box Closed and sealed Cleaned and polished to perfection By valiant soldiers, By mothers of despair, By fathers of disbelief, By the lost boy looking for his parents, By the old dancer improving is art, By the shoemaker screaming to god, By the priest puzzled by temptation, By me, By you… Every inch of my body And every ounce of my soul Pleads for emancipation! Just to be told in the end That only death is free. What?! Is that correct or are you just trying to confuse me? To amuse me in a cordial play Written by dark angels Who sold their god in the street markets For a few grains of sand… Can’t you see?! Can’t you see?! The stars dimming and the Sun unfeeling To our condition? Let me tell you about sad warriors And lost battles. Empty shelves and dry tears, Bullet holes and tepid fears. And the death of innocence in small dour faces, Seldom bodies betrayed by the solitude and ignorance Of a bored craftsman Looking vaguely, unworriedly at our insanity. The child’s dream surrounded by unwelcomed guests And the placid death wish of retribution! Ahmed! Ahmed! Where are you my soul brother? Companion of my longest and darkest hours! The sharer of my grief and despair! The mirror of my spiritual individual! The collector and righter of wrongs of my earthly body! I can see the box, Once again I see it... Sealed, cleaned and polished By a secret divine messenger… I cannot cry My tears are dry, Caged and belted continuously against the wall. I stare the sky Oh Philistia, I stare your sky! And everything else seems so small And nothing can destroy our love Not even this cold and gloomy wall! |