I Am So blessed
I am so blessed
Being a Palestinian
Being a refugee
For over fifty years
I am so blessed
I wasn’t in the tank
With an army uniform
Killing and destroying
To frighten people away
“It was a barren land”
Later on to say!
I am so blessed
Being under curfew
For most of my life
I am so blessed
I wasn’t with the army
Erecting high walls
Shooting at civilians
At every check-point
I am so blessed
Losing my father
In one of their raids
I am so blessed
That it was not I
Flying planes of terror
Firing that missile
Then Laughing and rejoicing
The mission was a success
I am so blessed
Watching my brother
Being taken away
I am so blessed
I wasn’t one of those
Kicking till he bled
From his nose and head
I am so blessed
Burying my baby
With a bullet in her heart
I am so blessed
I wasn’t that soldier
Who took a baby’s life
Nor was I his mother
Who welcomed him a hero
When coming back home
I am so blessed
Sleeping in a UN tent
Shivering in the freezing cold
I am so blessed
I wasn’t that settler
Who occupied my home
Justifying massacres
With a "PROMISE SO DIVINE"
Then, tossing and turning
All night long
Wondering what’s wrong
Haunted by his deeds
Searching like mad
For a long lost peace
Which he can’t find
I am so blessed
Holding David’s stone
In my little hand
I am so blessed
I wasn’t giant Goliath
With mass-destruction might
Seeing himself invincible
With no hope in sight
I am so blessed
Filed under: poems for Palestine |
Poetry for Palestine 
The entire world knows of the suffering in Palestine … and many, each having reasons, do nothing. Too, it seems like even a lot would be too little. I was re-reading W.B. Yeats’ poem “An Irish Airman Foresees His Death” and got the idea to try to see the problem through the eyes of one who is desperate. A suicide bomber is regarded by the mainstream as a person with problems who makes a problem worse – but doing nothing can also make a problem worse?
a suicide bomber foresees her death
dynamite strapped across her chest
dark hair covered, smooth tan face
she ambles down war-swept streets
past trash and sewage
across fields and into a shop
busy with affluent citizens
her purpose to blow apart
those who drove her family
from their land and lives
who degrade
and slowly starve
those they rob
she would not be broken
she would light a fire of hope
a martyr for justice
opening heaven’s gates, and hell’s
with an orange string, held to her heart.
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