Aysha my daughter’s playing on the ground
Yehuda in his plane to Gaza is bound
My children are my life I need nothing more
He presses the button and fires shells four
In the dust I can’t see but hear people cry
Above us Yehuda is bolting the sky
Aysha is now sleeping he stole off her life
He goes back to children and kisses the wife
My sons will survive and many others too
The chase has begun we know where go to
The red of the blood will make grey dust shine
I need not vendetta, I want them to know
The shame of the world will fall on them though
The children one day’ll forgive all their crimes
FROM CHATILA TO GAZA
Safe on your airplane,
you press a button,
and dust rises where the house of Gaza was.
The bomb explodes,
you don’t even hear the noise.
How can you hear the screams,
or see the blood?
You will see the tears on TV,
distant accidents of others
whom you don’t know and despise.
You see blood every day.
You saw it, as a child,
in Sabra and Chatila.
The Jew was idly watching.
Brothers and sisters died,
fathers and mothers.
How can you not hate?
You risk your life,
they call you a terrorist,
they won’t talk to you.
But your people,
they know you, love you, respect you.
Your keffiyeh is dirty,
your clothes are torn,
you studied little,
you have never traveled,
you prisoner and threatened.
I don’t know how to talk to you,
but today I am with you.
we read the same books,
we talked at the university restaurant,
we were comrades,
laughing and partying together.
You were like me.
today I don’t know you anymore.
by Corrado Poli