Albint_Almuslima
Im Proud 2 B Me!
They Shoot Children, Don't They?
by Salameh A. Nsour, PH.D.
They shot and killed and killed
They shot him more and more
To kill him so many times
They bullets made a circle on the wall
With Mohammed's heart its center
A hole in the wall
Right next to his bleeding father
Wailing was the twelve-year old boy
Under the high concrete wall
Now a Muslim wailing wall
The father's arms tried to shield
The high-powered bullets
(Made in the West/shot in the East)
From reaching his little son
But in vain as both dropped and twitched
The son's hand loosened from the dad
And his face fell on dad's leg
The dad swelling from bleeding
With an open mouth and a hand on the boy
Leaning to the wall, unconscious and staring
They both ceased to be
A danger to the squadron now
To ensure more death, few bullets came
Hitting the human dart board;
a soldierly game
Through this scene, the world sees
how beasts can enjoy their kill
With bullets as claws and teeth
Slaughtering cubs next to their dads
From this scene, the end can be seen
Of killers roaming the alleys
Forget their wealth, their might, and their lovers
For the will be killed by their own fear
Oh Mohammed, rest in peace
Play with martyrs your age or younger
They too were ripped by holy bullets
Shot at them by the holiest
Who will never be called terrorist?
For their terrorizing holiness
brings them no shame nor blame
Nor a dirty name
And with such a divine immunity
Given to the killers
By all the able and the learned
Peace will never arrive
And it will continue to stay away
From where bias and injustice thrive
Despite all the wishes of killers and their lovers
To bring dead peace around
And dump it on the ground
Your mom's eyes are very dry
Staring at the roads
Ascending to your home
"Surely he will come"
"Maybe he is late"
She says
Despite what she watched
The long moments prior to your death
Televised on the screens
Your five birds you left behind
Have been freed from the cage
Be happy for they managed to fly so high
Away from the killer's bullet range
Worse than killers in this life are
Their free enslaved lovers
Refusing to call a killer a killer
Despite the blood on both hands
They only say "you were caught in cross fire"
"Your little hand looked like a guided missile"
That is why the poor soldiers had to kill
You are guilty oh Mohammed
Had you not been created and alive
They would never have killed you
How amazing in this so-called civilized wired world
Children killers have to lie and lie
And so do their far away lovers
To make the story fit their wishes and hatefulness
With phrases and past participles
To make the uncertainty wash their killers
From shame, blame or any special name
Some hope with their fancy reports
Those killed might look as killers
At the end of the day
In the eyes of the wired but weird world
But those who die in their blood
Mixed with the soil they love
Their blood is their eternal testimony
Of innocence and of their desire to freely live
No guns or bullets in their hands
Except tiny stones from their lands
Children's blood will stain killers' souls
Washed or not, it stays and grows
Its smell goes to the fabric of killers' brains
To make their world entrenched in red
And insane
I wish you tell us from heaven
How terror befell you
While clinging to your dad
Pleading them not to shoot
But I wonder if the world ever will or can
Dare to call your killers terrorists
Or is that such a name
Reserved only for the infidels (in their eyes)
And for people of your skin?
The lovers of killers will only dare to say
"You died in a war; a normal thing to happen"
Or "you just were killed in the battlefield by the bullets"
How come the lovers of killers only use
The past participle not the active tense
When the killers are well-known two-legged beasts
And not the bullets
And they call it a war
When "only one army was shootin"
Amazing how much ignorance and injustice
Can be begot
With knowledge and hate fused in a
Strong lvoer's heart
Rest in peace, Mohammed,
Away from this world of lies
the so-called free wired world
You left behind
Is void of truth, freedom, and civility
Rest in peace and play
With heavenly toys of your own
And no bullets to shred you again
Again and again
Again and again
Again and again
by Salameh A. Nsour, PH.D.
They shot and killed and killed
They shot him more and more
To kill him so many times
They bullets made a circle on the wall
With Mohammed's heart its center
A hole in the wall
Right next to his bleeding father
Wailing was the twelve-year old boy
Under the high concrete wall
Now a Muslim wailing wall
The father's arms tried to shield
The high-powered bullets
(Made in the West/shot in the East)
From reaching his little son
But in vain as both dropped and twitched
The son's hand loosened from the dad
And his face fell on dad's leg
The dad swelling from bleeding
With an open mouth and a hand on the boy
Leaning to the wall, unconscious and staring
They both ceased to be
A danger to the squadron now
To ensure more death, few bullets came
Hitting the human dart board;
a soldierly game
Through this scene, the world sees
how beasts can enjoy their kill
With bullets as claws and teeth
Slaughtering cubs next to their dads
From this scene, the end can be seen
Of killers roaming the alleys
Forget their wealth, their might, and their lovers
For the will be killed by their own fear
Oh Mohammed, rest in peace
Play with martyrs your age or younger
They too were ripped by holy bullets
Shot at them by the holiest
Who will never be called terrorist?
For their terrorizing holiness
brings them no shame nor blame
Nor a dirty name
And with such a divine immunity
Given to the killers
By all the able and the learned
Peace will never arrive
And it will continue to stay away
From where bias and injustice thrive
Despite all the wishes of killers and their lovers
To bring dead peace around
And dump it on the ground
Your mom's eyes are very dry
Staring at the roads
Ascending to your home
"Surely he will come"
"Maybe he is late"
She says
Despite what she watched
The long moments prior to your death
Televised on the screens
Your five birds you left behind
Have been freed from the cage
Be happy for they managed to fly so high
Away from the killer's bullet range
Worse than killers in this life are
Their free enslaved lovers
Refusing to call a killer a killer
Despite the blood on both hands
They only say "you were caught in cross fire"
"Your little hand looked like a guided missile"
That is why the poor soldiers had to kill
You are guilty oh Mohammed
Had you not been created and alive
They would never have killed you
How amazing in this so-called civilized wired world
Children killers have to lie and lie
And so do their far away lovers
To make the story fit their wishes and hatefulness
With phrases and past participles
To make the uncertainty wash their killers
From shame, blame or any special name
Some hope with their fancy reports
Those killed might look as killers
At the end of the day
In the eyes of the wired but weird world
But those who die in their blood
Mixed with the soil they love
Their blood is their eternal testimony
Of innocence and of their desire to freely live
No guns or bullets in their hands
Except tiny stones from their lands
Children's blood will stain killers' souls
Washed or not, it stays and grows
Its smell goes to the fabric of killers' brains
To make their world entrenched in red
And insane
I wish you tell us from heaven
How terror befell you
While clinging to your dad
Pleading them not to shoot
But I wonder if the world ever will or can
Dare to call your killers terrorists
Or is that such a name
Reserved only for the infidels (in their eyes)
And for people of your skin?
The lovers of killers will only dare to say
"You died in a war; a normal thing to happen"
Or "you just were killed in the battlefield by the bullets"
How come the lovers of killers only use
The past participle not the active tense
When the killers are well-known two-legged beasts
And not the bullets
And they call it a war
When "only one army was shootin"
Amazing how much ignorance and injustice
Can be begot
With knowledge and hate fused in a
Strong lvoer's heart
Rest in peace, Mohammed,
Away from this world of lies
the so-called free wired world
You left behind
Is void of truth, freedom, and civility
Rest in peace and play
With heavenly toys of your own
And no bullets to shred you again
Again and again
Again and again
Again and again
