You Are Not A Child of Palestine

By Brihintha Burggee

You are not the wails of

despaired orphaned wombs

that have been shredded prematurely.

“Ya Ummi, Ya Ummi”*, echo those worthless domes now,

with tearful giggles as she stitches her scars back,

the only souvenir of her patience.

 

Neither are you the torn flesh

of pristine fledglings –

the pregnant dove,

now splashed with bloody stains.

“Ya Ummi!”, kept she crying,

Trying to hold together pieces of her innocence.

Snatch away her ragged doll.

Why then, did you carve your debased manliness

in bold on her virtuous belly!

 

You are not the arms,

opened to nowhere in despair

that yearn the fieriness of their beloved.

What do your guns know

— Of separated souls clinging to wet and dusty pillows

to lull themselves to sleep with gunshots!

 

You are not the rubble which,

opens its cracks after every blast,

to welcome death’s darkness.

What do your tanks know of walls that have never

heard the humming of pleased hearts

but gaps of silences filled with anguished cries.

 

And yet!
You are the clamour

that can rouse the heedless;

You are the beam

that can lift a prayer beyond the heavens;

 

You are the united mass

that can lower heads,

out of lofty crowns and pride

and overthrow the canker,

out of hearts.

 

*Ya Ummi, Ya Ummi: Oh Mother, Oh Mother

 

Brihintha Burggee hails from the island of Mauritius. This poem has been previously publishbed in Transcendent Zero Press.