Four Poems out of Gaza (by Dlsiluk)

Poems and Photographs out of Gaza


1) While Gaza Sleeps
(A poem for Gaza)




As they lead Gaza through the long hallway,
They carve yellow blisters into their souls
To let them know, stick to the right corridor.

“They drag us around Gaza as if it were a
prison camp, blisters on our feet,
No ventilator from the constant bombardment
No socks, just fading blue veins, and we try to sleep.
Our skin is redden, black navels, undershirts
all sweat, shoulders to the waist.
They inject shame into the fissures of our skin,
line us up like beasts of pry.
Then they stand before us with stiffen starched
Uniforms, yelling at us—the warmth of humankind
has left them, and us; underneath
our skins are all the buttons to war, they think
their five pointed star will protect them
because they carry the blood of heroes, but
it is all clotted with hate, and we all wail at night!
There is no privacy here, in Gaza, we live in
stalls, like horses (just to exist, sleep) facing each
other, close as a brother, frowning with clinched
hand grips on AK 47s, and M16s, upon where
blue veins perturb. And every one, one and all
have spiked fingers, spiked hearts: everyone
one and all, trying to find a narrow opening,
for an intrinsic enemy that never leaves oneself.”

No: 2761 (7-28-2010)
Dedicated to Gaza




2) Red Sweater Gaza Girl!




“Perhaps you don’t know this
But everyone else does
I am not a soldier; I’m a little girl,
nine years old.
All this land called Gaza is a DMZ.
I do not bear arms against anyone.”

There she stands, intensely, bowl
in hand, her only sweater is red
she’s wearing it…
(she’s a pretty dark eyed girl, with long
dark hair) in bittersweet misery. All
around her, debris from war, no one
consoling her (Gaza—being more like
an army camp, blown apart).

What will she think in passing years?
When years later, she’ll become a woman?
Perhaps she’ll put on a uniform,
no longer shy and embarrassed
of her plight.
Now silently she holds back her tears,
knowing, every little girl in this land,
will sometime have to cry, but not today
she’s hungry.
She also knows someday but not today,
she’ll have to figure out the path
of life she’ll take, in this DMZ.


No: 2762 (7-28-2010)
Dedicated to the Little Girl in the Red Sweater






2) Gaza: Tumbling Down




You can’t tell one from the other
For a moment in the streets the rain of terror has stopped
—the bombardment of rockets and bullets and other such things,
have stopped!
Most, I say most, every man, woman, child, dog had hidden
themselves from its deadly spray: one not even a
sparrow would have survived in…
On these days in Gaza, and there are many of these days,
we seek the magic of prayer
(this is not like the American movies:
here, you have real corpses to read about in the papers—)
We had our markets, and shops
All blown to bits…
Flying metal stubbed in our children’s heads, throats and chests…
Even early in the Mornings
Even during love Making
Some even half buried half alive!
Never any Silence.

No: 2762 (7-29-2010)



4) Sackcloth War
(Gaza, 2008-2010)

If only time could run backwards—
where those in Gaza
would not have to squat in candlelight,
or walk in blazing 130 Fahrenheit
like cockroaches dodging—night and day—
the flash and heat of warfare
to become crematorium ash!
Where the missiles enter Gaza,
concrete blasts back,
bodies are filled with phosphorus;
children will be found unborn—
in this ongoing sackcloth War!

No: 2763 (7-29-2010)



To see the photographs, go to the author's site