I don't understand why it's different for you.
Why it's different for you,
a people who have suffered,
a people who are Jew.  
To **** in your name,
a child who's turned blue.
In the dust from the home that once they held proud,
on land that you stole and then that you blew
to bits that are small
now smothered in blue
with sharp shrapnel that you
spread in the name of the few.

Why is it different?
Why, for the child who walked slowly through,
through the gates from the train,
on a ticket you knew
was only ever one way.
Did the mothers at Treblinka
deserve to go through,
the gates or the hurt
to watch their child torn
from a heart where they grew
to gasp a long breath
a gassed breath to the last,
smothered to blue.

Has nothing been learned by you, who cry true
from the past and the hurt, by
a people who are Jew.
The few who survived and echoed the cry,
a cry undisturbed by the thousands who died
a crime of our times, denied by the few,

I don't understand why it's different for you.
Why it's different for you,
a people who are Jew.  
In Gaza or Auschwitz,
the cry of a child
echoes eerily the same.
whether dying from gas
or bombs that you blame
on Hamas or God
the result is the same
the mother's heart ripped
and torn in two.

I don't understand why it's different for you.
To ****  the thousands
to get at the few.
I wonder if those who died for being Jew
would welcome the children of Gaza
the children who knew
they'd died just like them,
innocent and blue.

let me paint this picture
let me put it straight

his eyes closed for the last time

she lingers but a moment
her fingers on his cheek

his lips are ashen grey
the smile from before now so far away

he carried his flag with pride

his standard flew so high
but they shot him in his street

his martyred soul with the god he loved
his mother left praying over his shell

a nation chained
a voice lost

mothers left broken children left crying
a clan, a nation, a blood that is dying

Rise to heaven,
It's your home.

Leave us on this earth
It's a cowards home

she has become my distant lover. my heels crave the cracked holiness of her cobblestone. old city, dome, wall, burial you are still circling at my feet. now i only feel at home when i am close to the ground. mimicking the comfort i found at her feet - Jerusalem

Blood splatter
Brain matter
Arms crossed
Children lost
You shouldn’t get
To look away

Cold metal slabs
Filled with bad
Rooms brimming
Ready to burst
With the sad
You shouldn’t get
To look away

Bone fragment
Metal shards
Bombed out buildings
Scarred the yard
Flowers crushed
Before their time
You shouldn’t get
To look away

Open wounds
Pacifier soaked in blood
Children in school
With nowhere to run
Can’t hide from
A bomb
Can’t find a tunnel to sanity
While this goes on
You shouldn’t get to look away


Madmen don’t live in asylums
They wear suits and ties
Eat power lunches
While bombs fly
Turn a blind eye
For profit
No matter what it costs
You may try to hide
Let others decide
Who lives and dies
But no one should get to look away


See what’s left
Feel their pain
Give me your reasons
Try to explain
But as long as it happens
Again and again
No one should get to look away

The photo burns
Charcoal baby doll
Man and woman screams
Holding up
That incinerated thing
But it’s just a doll

Black flakes fall
Baby dolls clothing
Turning to dust
I cough it in and out
Choking on the musk
Stark stench of death
Yet they cradle their broken doll

Eyes closer ears ringing
Fears bringing me to edge of insanity
Her screaming seems strange
Her eyes look deranged
The dolls legs have little bones
Calcium protrusion
But it’s just a doll

Scorched skin
Not some porcelain
But it’s just a doll
Please let it be just a doll

With an azure drinking cup studded with lapis, wait for her
In the evening at the spring, among perfumed roses, wait for her
With the patience of a horse trained for mountains, wait for her
With the distinctive, aesthetic taste of a prince, wait for her
With seven pillows stuffed with light clouds, wait for her
With strands of womanly incense wafting, wait for her
With the manly scent of sandalwood on horseback, wait for her
Wait for her and do not rush.

If she arrives late, wait for her.
If she arrives early, wait for her.
Do not frighten the birds in her braided hair.
Wait for her to sit in a garden at the peak of its flowering.
Wait for her so that she may breathe this air, so strange to her heart.
Wait for her to lift her garment from her calf, cloud by cloud.
And wait for her.

Take her to the balcony to watch the moon drowning in milk.
Wait for her and offer her water before wine.
Do not glance at the twin partridges sleeping on her chest.
Wait and gently touch her hand as she sets a cup on marble.
As if you are carrying the dew for her, wait.
Speak to her as a flute would to a frightened violin string,
as if you knew what tomorrow would bring.
Wait, and polish the night for her ring by ring.
Wait for her until Night speaks to you thus:
There is no one alive but the two of you.
So take her gently to the death you so desire,
and wait.

Two thousand years
Regressing past the cross
Lead bites bitter as bronze
Gaza rages

The brimstone and fire you promised
You delivered
Apostle bound crusader
Jewish Lucifer

Stones scattered around me
Remnant of the life they had
Each tell a story and a gossip
Of those who stood this ground
My fingers slowly hold one
I hear the stories of the brave
Who dared to live in peace
Tears struggle to flow
As the distant memories sink
Deep in the caves of my mind