#nakba - Hello Poetry

We gave them day They gave us night; It was not forthright They bore a disguise Where is delight? It fled, with them in sight! Where is mirth? It wilted with plight! There is plague: A demon’s hour, A century’s fever, Unkind to all men The wells run dry The olives take flight And heritage – lies Everything – dies What is this Hour? We’ve been disowned: Citizens of paradise – Al-Aqsa is our Home! Our refuge with God, Our shade under wings; A symphony of hope – Trembling in our souls: ‘From the river to the sea From the river to the sea Palestine will be free – From the river to the sea!’

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Jun 16, 2024

Jun 16, 2024 at 6:10 AM UTC

tariq-al

NAKBA

We gave them day They gave us night; It was not forthright They bore a disguise Where is delight? It fled, with them in sight! Where is mirth? It wilted with plight! There is plague: A demon’s hour, A century’s fever, Unkind to all men The wells run dry The olives take flight And heritage – lies Everything – dies What is this Hour? We’ve been disowned: Citizens of paradise – Al-Aqsa is our Home! Our refuge with God, Our shade under wings; A symphony of hope – Trembling in our souls: ‘From the river to the sea From the river to the sea Palestine will be free – From the river to the sea!’

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For a Palestinian Child, with Butterflies by Michael R. Burch Where does the butterfly go ... when lightning rails ... when thunder howls ... when hailstones scream ... when winter scowls ... when nights compound dark frosts with snow ... where does the butterfly go? Where does the rose hide its bloom when night descends oblique and chill, beyond the capacity of moonlight to fill? When the only relief’s a banked fire’s glow, where does the butterfly go? And where shall the spirit flee when life is harsh, too harsh to face, and hope is lost without a trace? Oh, when the light of life runs low, where does the butterfly go? Published by Tucumcari Literary Review, Romantics Quarterly, Poetry Life & Times, Victorian Violet Press (where it was nominated for a “Best of the Net”), The Contributor (a Nashville homeless newspaper), Siasat (Pakistan), and set to music as a part of the song cycle “The Children of Gaza” which has been performed in various European venues by the Palestinian soprano Dima Bawab. Keywords/Tags: butterfly, children, storm, lightning, thunder, hailstones, snow, frost, night, shelter, comfort, safety, rose, fire, warmth, Holocaust, Nakba, Gaza, Trail of Tears, slavery, injustice, abuse, ethnic cleansing, genocide

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Apr 4, 2020

Apr 4, 2020 at 4:39 AM UTC

michael-r-burch

Where Does the Butterfly Go?

For a Palestinian Child, with Butterflies by Michael R. Burch Where does the butterfly go ... when lightning rails ... when thunder howls ... when hailstones scream ... when winter scowls ... when nights compound dark frosts with snow ... where does the butterfly go? Where does the rose hide its bloom when night descends oblique and chill, beyond the capacity of moonlight to fill? When the only relief’s a banked fire’s glow, where does the butterfly go? And where shall the spirit flee when life is harsh, too harsh to face, and hope is lost without a trace? Oh, when the light of life runs low, where does the butterfly go? Published by Tucumcari Literary Review, Romantics Quarterly, Poetry Life & Times, Victorian Violet Press (where it was nominated for a “Best of the Net”), The Contributor (a Nashville homeless newspaper), Siasat (Pakistan), and set to music as a part of the song cycle “The Children of Gaza” which has been performed in various European venues by the Palestinian soprano Dima Bawab. Keywords/Tags: butterfly, children, storm, lightning, thunder, hailstones, snow, frost, night, shelter, comfort, safety, rose, fire, warmth, Holocaust, Nakba, Gaza, Trail of Tears, slavery, injustice, abuse, ethnic cleansing, genocide

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Something ―for the children of the Holocaust and the Nakba by Michael R. Burch Something inescapable is lost— lost like a pale vapor curling up into shafts of moonlight, vanishing in a gust of wind toward an expanse of stars immeasurable and void. Something uncapturable is gone— gone with the spent leaves and illuminations of autumn, scattered into a haze with the faint rustle of parched grass and remembrance. Something unforgettable is past— blown from a glimmer into nothingness, or less, which finality swept into a corner, where it lies in dust and cobwebs and silence. It was my honor and privilege to work with survivors of the Holocaust and Hiroshima on translations of their poems and accounts into English. What they have told us is unutterably sad, and saddest of all is hearing about the lives of children being full of horror and terror, only to be cut short. Unfortunately today Palestinian children in Gaza and the West Bank are experiencing something similar, a modern Trail of Tears ...

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Feb 23, 2020

Feb 23, 2020 at 2:09 AM UTC

michael-r-burch

Something

Something ―for the children of the Holocaust and the Nakba by Michael R. Burch Something inescapable is lost— lost like a pale vapor curling up into shafts of moonlight, vanishing in a gust of wind toward an expanse of stars immeasurable and void. Something uncapturable is gone— gone with the spent leaves and illuminations of autumn, scattered into a haze with the faint rustle of parched grass and remembrance. Something unforgettable is past— blown from a glimmer into nothingness, or less, which finality swept into a corner, where it lies in dust and cobwebs and silence. It was my honor and privilege to work with survivors of the Holocaust and Hiroshima on translations of their poems and accounts into English. What they have told us is unutterably sad, and saddest of all is hearing about the lives of children being full of horror and terror, only to be cut short. Unfortunately today Palestinian children in Gaza and the West Bank are experiencing something similar, a modern Trail of Tears ...

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