The Hate Poem from the Rebel in Each of Us

A ghost scared to death
The infi­nite ter­ror of children’s game
Men and woman
In love with glass­es
Haunt­ed by sounds
Drip­ping by the visu­als
The holy are­na
With dance hall lights
And those despi­ca­ble men
Who sits back and enjoy
The bombs falling on Gaza’s heart

Chairs drawn out and drinks in their hands
Col­i­se­um of the Uncle Sam
They take the pic­tures of fall­en slave
And some­times the fall­en brave
Who believe it is only fair
To bomb a child to hell
Hur­rah! To his strength
Hur­rah! To this pathet­ic scum

These pic­tures, these hero­ics of our times
They are so blessed and pure
How can a dead frag­ment­ed child
Not be blessed or pure?
Haven’t you seen the ulti­mate rebel race
That exists in the impo­tent cyber space?
How can the fight­ing elec­trons in a chip
Would improve the qual­i­ty of the soul of the mur­der­ing peo­ple?
But they say that they do
So they post and absolve
Post and absolve
Until nobody cares
No mat­ter how much Gaza bleeds

Those hip­pie plac­ards in the street
And smil­ing rebels think­ing about a bet­ter world
That could exists with the mon­strous free­dom
They seem to preach
How can the Anglo Sax­on noise
Would do any bet­ter now?
While it croaked like a fat­ten­ing toad
Past these blis­ter­ing cen­turies
They don’t care about Gaza’s face
Unless it is anoth­er chance
To put make­up on their souls
These men, these fran­tic moth­ers
They would eat the flesh of their broth­ers
And wash their hands and dine
On what is actu­al­ly allowed
You think they would change the Gaza’s face?

Or the fat Arabs who believe that they would be free
If they become a West­ern whore
And maybe they are right
Because nobody can as ever be free
Like the whore that prowls the New York’s gate
The ghost scared to death
Have you seen the lat­est hotel they have built?
That sec­ond Kaa­ba to Sau­di oil
The Kaa­ba to the oth­er side of the world
Where mon­ey­bag-look­ing peo­ple
From one green reli­gion of dol­lar sign
Would pil­grimed while they take care
Of their actu­al reli­gion on the side
Say those Saudi’s don’t deserve to die

The hand that moves
The scream that keeps the whole neigh­bor­hood awake
That changes things
Bul­lets fired from passion’s end
That changes things
An army march­ing towards its goal
That changes things
And what you are seem to be doing
That changes only you
Into some­one that would not ever care
So why not put the plac­ard down
Put down the sat­is­fac­tion
Of mock rebel­lion
And pick some­thing else up
That these lib­er­als don’t approve
And why don’t they approve?
The oth­er side of their coin
Is doing the same thing every­where
And they want me to throw words
At guns aimed in the name of West­ern guilt?
Words loud­ly come
My dear lib­er­al
And wide­ly dis­ap­pears

Gaza you just wait a while
Your rebel is updat­ing this poem
Edit­ing the intri­cate details to impress
The god­dess of beau­ty
And ani­mals of atten­tion

Gaza you hang in there
Your rebels have just fin­ished watch­ing the game
Of foot­balls eter­nal fun
And believe it when I say
You are no fun at all
I mean don’t you know the bil­lion eyes
Of camera’s mighty façade
Are watch­ing you con­stant­ly around the clock?
Behave your­self and ask you corpses
To have more trag­ic expres­sions
And get all the pieces of your chil­dren
In panoram­ic shot
See if that changes any­thing
While your rebel charges the lap­top
To cam­paign for you
And drool at the West­ern world