This Star of David for people in Exile
For those decimated by centuries of horror
And unimaginable cruelty by dominant cultures
Once symbolized protection from all harm
It is now a star of intolerance and retribution
Hatikva, once a song of hope for the Diaspora
A poem adopted in the 1st Zionist Congress
As a national anthem, it is a warning to neighbors
Of military might without compassion or remorse
An anathema to to people of the West Bank and Gaza
The future belongs not to the outspoken or the soft spoken neither does it belong to those with the greatest insight but it sure belongs to the individuals with foresight
Some are docile, some try to feign being hostile
Sooner enough they will realize that all their efforts are futile
On the other hand some are unsure; some are trying very hard to burnish baseless assumptions
Indeed trying to give more luster to it
While some pretend to be cocksure
Many for sure have become lackadaisical having been fed with a truckload of fables
As ever the spin doctors are relentlessly churning out rumours oven fresh from the rumour mill
Beclouding the minds of the weak minded
Now fully hypnotized they readily dance to the drum beat of the illusionist and turn their backs on the visionary
However the truth is an open wound that most times comes to the light in the twilight years
Some prefer sitting put, sitting pretty in their comfort zone
Until the government spray with confetti, then they decide to fight back, by putting up a good fight, fighting good like ninja, then the system switches it up
It taking it up to a higher gear with brigand tactics that is so cold
Putting them masses in a chokehold
Act out of character and they send the riot PO-PO, beaten blue and black so they decide to mark time by doing keepy ups as a past time
Soon the old folks run out of time
When they gets past their prime
Now they realize that all these while they have being in detention, standing in line at the pension board trying pick up their pension
Many will eventually kick the bucket
Due to long hours spent on the queue at the pension board, passing out and passing away
Dying of hypertension
A victim of their own foolhardiness and falling so cheaply for the government’s foolery
Hold my tongue
Just like when I was young
Freedom of expression?
Another reason for aggression
In her house
I’m a mouse
If want to continue eating cheese
I’ll stay on my knees
Speak only when spoken to
Let my own thoughts become goo
Even a single utterance of discontent
Turns to a fiery argument
Always wrong
I eat Ding Dongs
Drink Sprite and contemplate
How we debate
Is it possible to disagree
And remain friendly?
Not in this house
I’m a mouse
I’ll continue to nibble the Swiss
Someday we’ll get past this
Looking at the serpent, trying to dissolve the conscience of a few in turpentine.
Trying to quarantine the consciousness of many on the eve of Valentine.
Wipe the smirk off the face of the nobodies.
Empower the busy bodies elevating them to becoming somebodies.
Play a discordant tune, horde and hurt them.
Burn bridges and don’t build bridges.
Synergize with the outlaws as well become a law unto yourself.
Regard the law but disregard the Rule of Law.
Many a few has followed suit in the concrete jungle taking the route of jungle justice.
The judicial system is not trusted.
In a “lawless” society lawlessness is bound to abound.
In the full glare of the international community remove your garb and fight dirty.
Smoke them out, round up the dissenters and light them up smoking them (one after the other) like a cigar.
The egos of the egoistical gold digger getting bigger.
His shenangians are becoming more obvious, oblivious of the fact that the international community have a hawk view.
Now all can see that he is just a spoilt brat lacking tact.
Wack is his art so his displays will never be taken to heart.
His Achilles hill is that he surrounded himself with praise singers. Gullible as he was they ultimately got his finger burnt. He was once adept at pointing accusing fingers- deflecting attention.
Back then he was always finger licking; human right abuses was his hors d’oeuvres.
Now he must eat the humble pie.
In front of the U.N.
a gentle group
gathered in silence
maintaining a weary vigil
with signs, flags, petitions
for their oppressed country
brutally occupied
for more than fifty years
by imperialist China,
defying morality,
international law,
the will of Tibetans
abandoned by the world
to alien rule.
More at http://www.garycbeck.com.
I don’t know about
your mask, what that
says about you,
the angry multiplicity
of colonized voices that
try to force you in
a working corner, I don’t
even know about my
own oppressor mask,
how it looks, how often
I use it.
The church’s beating heart
shot dead
while oppression hangs in a noose,
slumps in a desk, stands jobless
on the corner tonight,
tomorrow sits in jail,
a sanctuary with food
where suits scream fiery orange,
cover angry,
rat tails sweep the floor.