I speak of Palestine


I speak of your insistence

on believing what you're told

to be so blind:

you must have learned

what not to know

to be so cold that you can say

"These people do belong

inside this tomb."

They cannot move

or live

or eat

And, yes,

I speak of Palestine.


You cannot hold

its fate is just

and not be part

of grinding up

their bones and blood

to mix with desert earth

and olive oil

to build your state, your jail;

a wall surrounds

their place, like this:

a torture room

a starving field

a stolen home

a human shield

a bullet for a child

and poison gas on village streets

their food, their food!

Their food is gone

you cleanse

and push

and punish

taking what you want

to have for you alone.


We know it's rape,

and though the world records

your names and deeds,

the future courts and trials

will not revive

the dead, displaced and missing.


And yes, I speak of Palestine


Bob Green