Song of the Haven
Walid was limping to the border:
‘Away, away from law-and-order…’
Behind he heard the Muazin:
‘To Hell, all ye who chose to sin!’
The Gaza strip was filled with sounds
Of blasting guns and roaring hounds.
The Fatah and Hamas both called
To send each other to the pall.
Walid was limping from the shot
Which in the war his leg had caught.
He was in luck: his wife and sons
Were in the room; and now they’re gone.
He ran from torments which awaited
Inside ‘that dark room, full of hatred’.
They pulled his nails out, and his back
Was scorched by iron. He was whacked
And strangled; he was nearly dead
When by a miracle he fled.
He limped and crawled towards the border,
Still wondering if he’s really sober.
※
And somewhere else, Widad too ran,
But from the members of her clan.
‘I’m innocent, ya rabb!’ she thought
Of all inquities which wrought
The fine-eyed boy she’d met—he loved her,
And yet, the tale was grim and sombre:
Just once alone sufficed. Some man,
Who saw them walking hand in hand,
Was shocked and told her father, ‘Sir,
It grievens me these news to bear:
Widad was strolling down the street—
She walked and some young lad did… meet!’
The father got a tantrum: ‘I
Shall not allow this, she must DIE
By HONOUR KILLING!’ Luckily,
She learned of this in time to flee.
She must keep wiping all the tears:
‘The hired hitman might be here…
Ya Allah, please let them be not
By there, and bring my toil to nought…’
※
Young Yusuf, too, was making haste:
‘My love… I have no time to waste…’
He came to stop a grave disaster:
‘Oh Allah, make me faster, faster!…’
His love was certain when he left
To go reverse the ‘hellish theft.’
His parents told him, ‘Find a wife!’
But now he went to take his life.
The kisses burn on Yusuf's skin:
'The sweetest kiss, the bitter sin…’
I thou thee, coward!… Khaled dear,
You fill my heart with angst and fear…’
Now he recalls their final row:
‘I shan’t allow it! Shan’t allow!’
‘Shut up, and look at me! Now say,
Want you what we have to dismay?
We have a splendid thing between us,
And even if we bring no fetus
Into the world, and people ‘round
Can’t understand what we have found
In one another’s arms. My lover
Damocles’ sword must not come hover
Above our heads. Let's flee at once.’
‘And then the conqueror will have won!’
‘Let it be so! If this be our
Dear homeland, and it be so sour
And bitter, let’s from it retire!’
But these words did nought but fire
Young Khaled’s heart. ‘No. I’m obliged.
Now ma salameh. Here’s my ride.’
Young Yusuf wept for long, then ran:
‘Oh, may it have not yet began…’
※
These stories’ ends are not so bright:
Walid indeed the border crossed
And got to ‘Ikhilov’; yet there
The great commotion did him scare:
‘He is a terrorist!’ they said;
‘We all should do what fear and dread
Command us to, and kick him out!’
From pro and con supporters, shouts
Were heard in all the ward. Enfin,
There were elections; and the con
Was thus declared victorious. He
In Ikhilov remained, and healed.
Widad did cross the border too,
But her plot did unfold with woe:
‘We must be tolerant of other
Nigh cultures…’ quoth Police. ‘Your brothers
Should speak to you, go make your peace!’
Widad was clearly not at ease:
‘You harlot!’ Screamed her father at her,
And then came Fate’s atrocious laughter.
Her family faked their calming down,
And she came back. By night, her gown
Was stained in red, but no Widad:
And all from one fine-eyèd lad…
And Yusuf too was not embraced
By fortune gods. ‘Now Khaled's place,
Well, is all over…’ Yusuf heard it
And swore fore’er to be a hermit.
He crossed the border, asked for shelter:
‘I cannot live within this cellar!
…My loved one’s there! Please, let me pass!
They… cannot see I… want no… lass…’
They let him cross, but he was late:
‘Now Khaled’ s gone, now Khaled’s dead.’
And Yusuf now is dressed in lilac…
In lilac clothes in an asylum.
※
Ye Palestians from the Bank,
From Hebron, Gaza, every rank,
Ye from Kafr-Qasim, from Tulkarm,
Come hear this song! Don’t cower, come!
Do ye enjoy a life of fear,
Unknowing when Hamas grows near?
Like ye the fundamentalism?
Is homophobia fun? Say, is it?
Before you speak of ‘independence’,
First cease to speak of ‘sins’, ‘repentance’,
Et cetera. Once you be a state,
We cannot help you, it’s too late.
This happened in Sudan: they say,
‘‘Tis OUR business!’ and dismay
Humanitary aids: ‘Do not
Invade us! We ne’er help have sought!’
We want to help you, but before,
You must show your advancements; or,
At least, do not drive out as ravens
The land your sons use as their haven.
An Cat Dubh, 5.10.08
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