فلسطين

It’s quite the dark and lonely place
being stuck in this space
in which you continually have to
self-censor
beyond measure

mostly wholly alone with your rage
in a rusty cage
of isolation
and repression

gut-wrenchingly horrified to the level of your very cells
Nothing ever seeming to quell
the feeling of not doing nearly enough
the feeling that you are the only one with the desire
to radically escalate
occupy
disrupt
vandalize
infiltrate
because of their murderous hate-driven
maniacal sense of never being sated
their genocidal infatuation
their never blowing enough martyrs into oblivion

Never enough of their blood shed

Attempts to get out of your head
through action
can feel like trudging through quicksand
Those who do indeed lend a helping hand
just never seem to express the same level of fury
as you do
that seeps
to the very marrow of your bones

I guess at the end of the day
I am looking for carbon copies
clones
of myself

Like looking for the ideal partner

Perhaps a pointless exercise
A fruitless endeavour

I would never
in a million years
expect anyone directly affected
to be infected
with the same uncontrollable urge to spout invective
(directed at
the depraved instigators)
and longing to be explosively active
as I do
in this context

My sense of urgency and rejection
of the need to err on the side of caution and restraint
of course indexing and inextricably linked to my whiteness
harmless and quaint
My heritage
my privilege
and its insidiousness
gives me a carte blanche
a free pass
while others come up against countless barriers
are abused and harassed

I’m pretty much
downright untouchable
in the eyes of the law
I risk losing nothing much at all
Should I fall
I’ll be just fine
Unlike those whose skin colour
clothing
head and hair coverings
are different to mine

It is true
that the odd angry woman
or man
falls from somewhere
Jannah
heaven
and apppears
not just online
in a feed or timeline
but in person
Absolute gifts of humans

What is worse
both a blessing and a curse
is that they often have to take flight soon again

for a while…

sometimes forever…

I miss them when they’re gone

If and when they return
the world turns
the sun rises again
A new dawn
is on
my horizon
energizing
me

I thank God for having chosen
me

to be bestowed upon with their very presence
and
existence

Well, anyway
that’s my two cents

as I cower in the quietness
of this very specific type of
darkness
and loneliness

Complaining about first-world problems like these
in the form of poetry
is an absolute luxury
that those suffering
will likely never
feel
hear
smell
taste
or
see

Lucky old me