For Amjad Naser
You are the first ever to look back,
and see his own face.
While the rest of us, hollow-eyed,
died before knowing the wielder of the axe,
that split open our backs,
plunging us into the pool of fear.
This axe-man, was he like us?
Human, with a mouth capable of smiling,
with eyes capable of shedding tears?
You are the first to lift God’s Gaza,
seeing us, for the first time,
and the last.
I am one of those who saw and kept quiet.
How will I be punished?
I saw the thorns, said they’re just angry roses.
Evil, isn’t it just Good that’s lost hope?
Why then are we pushed,
despite ourselves, to desperation,
then held accused in its gallows?
And who are those judges
who hammer our heads
with the hammers of ethicality?
The Karate classes of my childhood
have not made me a warrior,
nor have the Marxist parties.
I am just a dramatic lump of meat,
that dreams of diving into
a pool of sweets and love.
I handed over my merchandise,
and never received its price.
I spent years of my youth reciting:
one state from the river to the sea
The holy river crossed
by freedom fighters in their boots,
is now a sewer for nine million bladders,
and the sea, like a fairy, has fled.
Many a poem I carefully crafted
on loneliness and stillness,
writing manifestos
on injustice until it turned into water,
on borders until they turned into a home,
on blood until it turned into a clown.
I am still searching for he who slipped
his hand into my pocket,
blasting the river’s source.
My face is covered in unholy water,
and I cannot see.
Forgive me for not looking back.
I left you alone like a hyena at night,
looking back
maybe,
just maybe,
seeing my face.
