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