Just a little war crime

All I want is to commit a little war crime. Why is this too much to ask?

I want to torture a few people. But they are bad people, they have the wrong colour skin, they speak the wrong language. Just a few. Why not?

I want to rape a few women. They deserve it for reasons I can justify in my mind. Just a few. I’m sure they might even like it.

I want to ethnically cleanse a few towns. Just a handful. Those villagers have plenty of places to go.

I want to execute a few teenagers. I will call them terrorists to make it easier. Families can always have more kids. Besides, didn’t I say they were terrorists?

I want to imprison a few people without trial. You never know, they may have done something bad. We’re all sinners as they say.

Besides, I have a good cause,

I was persecuted. Not by them, but I can pretend it was by them. It is easier that way.

I was expelled. Not by them, but I can pretend it was by them. It is easier that way.

I was tortured. Not by them, but I can pretend it was by them. It is easier that way.

I was ethnically cleansed. Not by them, but I can pretend it was by them. It is easier that way.

I was raped. Not by them, but I can pretend it was by them. It is easier that way.

I saw my family murdered. Not by them, but I can pretend it was by them. It is easier that way.

You see, this war crime, this little, little war crime, it’s not such a big deal. Why do you deny me?

You must hate me.

 

Christmastime

It’s Christmastime and what a cheer,

Trees and lights and reindeer and shopping malls full of people,

We support big corporations and yell at people who don’t wish us “Merry Christmas”

That’s what Christmas is about.

There was a Palestinian family,

They had no money so they got to stay in a barn,

And had a little boy  right among the animals,

He grew up an activist, that boy

He preached non-violence and helped his fellow man,

It didn’t matter. His existence was violence to the state,

When he was 33 the state killed him.

He stood against occupation, for equality.

He had to die.

His mother wept as she saw his body.

Tortured, a reminder to all those who resist oppression.

I digress.

Don’t know what that has to do with Christmas.

Merry Christmas

Poem: Mothers of the Undisposessed

Mommy, have you seen my soul? I think I lost it

I was playing soldier and my friend was playing Arab and I shot him dead with my toy gun

BANG BANG BANG

Afterwards you told me I was a good boy and that Arabs want to kill me so I have to kill them.

I was so afraid I put my toy gun under my pillow, I think my soul dropped somewhere.

I know you’re busy but if you see my soul, let me know? I think I need it.

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