By JULIAN RODRIGUES*
Poem dedicated to the heroines and heroes of Fatah and Hamas
bodies now in this moment disappear again
(wither away)
poetry is not in any of your newspapers
cowardly concealment
cynical-smiling support
to orgies filled with corpses
offal – with fine cutlery tasted
but knowing that it resists, Gaza
while we repeat our strange routines
that when we turn on the news TV
images of their dead appear
but resilient streets
there are no more newspapers
only TVs and virtual networks
united
They want to take away all hope from the righteous
no missile no tank no rifle
sometimes without even old slingshots
martyrs of all ages
stubborn stubborn stubborn
so called terrorists
persist insist resist
breathe (I don't know how)
underlings can win!
one day after another day and after another day and another night
smoke, garbage, debris, putrid debris rain down on them
we didn't see it (our good Carlos)
any sign
of a shy flower rising on the asphalt
or in smoking tank pipes
disgusting zionists
ridiculous minions
cruel
let's regurgitate them!
bubonic rats
hypocritically evoke patriarchal gods
barbaric persecutions of old
so they justify
the right to replicate them on others
salivate excitedly
right, their god there
would have granted them
uncontested timeless writing
another bonus
the right to always be right
and to kill
whoever suits them (at any time or place)
this bearded imaginary friend of the guys
(the misogynist upstairs)
beyond everything
made them – the Zionists –
such special people
saturated with privileges and powers
just a snap of your fingers
thousands fall dead
but always the same
different neighbors
however
in other eras
floods of imperialist-Zionist-bourgeois blood
we already did just gushing
(it is possible not to perish)
made of rocks
that small people fit
the bitter misfortune of war
for all eternity
a people who don't want to die
combat
me under so much rubble
but the guys are afraid
How afraid are they of you?
fight then from apocalypse to genesis
by the banal and very trivial right
to continue where they have always been
and plant, copulate, pray, enjoy, create
make poetry
work
one day (maybe)
the just, the good and the beautiful
will appear
redeem so many bodies
marked by indescribable scars
will honor each other on these days
every leg torn off
each missing arm
and all eyes brutally blinded
along with piles of incinerated bodies
in these times
rich people's bombs
and artifacts that hurt
will be permanently damaged
bodoques will dominate this new world
shoe now
now
presently time
it's up to me to see the misfortune
and cry
my whole chest tightens
weird thing
anguish
deep breath
once again I seek to entrench myself
I tenderly observe my companions
some more, others a little less tired
I remember how bittersweet it is
every second
fight for the good
by the beautiful
and for the just
the Palestinians do not give up – they do not bend.
move me
for they know that no living creature
have the right
to pass by here just accumulating coins
resigned to this little life destined for us
life is only minimally worth living
(cecilianly speaking)
if we reinvent ourselves every day
Free Palestine!
Palestine Free!
Palestine Free!
Free Palestine!
* Julian Rodrigues, journalist and teacher, is a PT militant and an activist in the LGBTI and Human Rights movement.
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