Shatila Refugee Camp

JUSTICE & PEACE FOR PALESTINE

Amidst checkpoints of sadness, lies so much hope,

Forced from Palestine by the collective misanthrope-

They now exist in a mosaic of fatal wires,

And impromptu ceasefires.

 

The fatal alleys grimace at the visiting sun,

Which brings the risk of exposing an undeclared gun.

Through lines of counterfeit clothes-

And the sour-sweet smell of rotting yield-

Lies a path, drowned and protectively concealed.

 

Into the unknown my body strides;

Putting faith in foreign guides-

I walk into a room of joy and youth,

And feel bittersweet, in truth.

 

A school established after the 1982 massacre,

Leaving little children to dance in macabre,

Is now adorned in cheerful dye,

Conjuring emotions that urged me to cry.

 

Yet, why when these children laugh and shout ‘bravo’?

And shine as bright as ‘the peacock’, Pavo.

Perhaps their ignorance is my anguish-

As I can see the Palestinian people legally vanish.

 

They cling on to the right to return,

Whilst politics suggests a motion to adjourn-

Leaving them in a state of purgatory-

Unable to narrate their own collective story.

 

Without this, they cease to exist in space and time-

An organised genocidal crime.

Yes… the US…

They repress,

Suppress,

Work with Israel in a bid to oppress.

 

Adhere to the freedom of press,

Speak out and seek redress.