That’s where the library stood
And here the infant school,
On that tree she carved his name
Ahmed Hussain Al-Rashid Rasul.
That’s now his liver on the tree
And his hand by the classroom door
His head is in the library
And his brains are on its floor.
That’s her baby’s arm across her chest
Riveted by a shrapnel blow
Its fingers reaching for the breast
That, alas, is there no more.
A drone has taken Nour’s head
And Ahmed’s shred to pieces
Of flesh and bone that none can mourn –
And all in the name of Moses.
Phosphorus has burnt out Wahid’s eyes
And fireballs charred the dead
Turning the martyrs of Palestine
To burnt offerings instead.
Stone, rock, dust and fire
The land is a blasted heath,
The sky is emptied of its Gods
Israel’s sown the dragon’s teeth.
And round by round from that stony ground
Rise the armies of the dead
Right across the Muslim world from which all justice’s fled.
Not martyrs now but soldiers
Marching as to war,
The seed that blind Israel’s sown
Has created its own Nakba.