By Rassool Jibraeel Snyman
My pen is broken
And cannot write
My thoughts fail me
What sonnets do I write
What empty words are these
That I might place on accusing paper
When there is death in the streets
And silence in the spaces
Between our ribs
And the dungeons of our minds
Hidden are we in our ivory towers
Our voices stilled
As we sip wine
And savour delicacies
Of blood and nectar
Truth like death
Is a subject none will talk of
Or think of
For fear of it
And what I might bring
The world is engulfed in flames
"Murder" the night screams
I turn up the music
The strains of Bach
Beethoven and Rastaman mingle
With explosions and screams
My silk shirt crimson
The colour of blood
Of despair
Yellow the colour of my courage
The ghosts of Auschwitz
Drift in the acrid powder
That floats as mute witness
To genocidal extravaganzas
And political theatrics
"Make up" screams the director
Of Hollywood propaganda
And embedded journalism
"Cut ..Cut" bellows the producer of cellulose lies
And deceitful scripts
"Anti-Semitism" yells the jaundiced nationalist
Silencing truth
Murdering dissent
Burying any thought that seeks the sun
What has the world become
Crows caw into the night
Harbingers of doom
Messengers of death
I break the tablet
Like the Moses of old
Smash it to the ground
And trample upon the shards
The words empty meaningless
Beware the eyes of January
The Pharaohs of Judah
Ascend the throne
Red are the rivers that flow through the lands
Bombs are gifts from the heavens
Phosphorous the fireworks
Sparkles of death
The first born is dying
Beneath the rubble
Alone
For no crime but existence
The kings of Egypt silent
Complicit
Bloodied
In silent death
And slow strangulation
Silent murder and ghostfaced killers
Tip toe through Gaza
Collecting souls
From gaunt bodies
Ashen faces
And haunted eyes
The wheel of history turns slowly
Relentlessly
The roles have changed
The blood remains
"Murder!" the cry echoes into the night
The world slumbers
As death stalks the land
Icy grin on his face
Reaping insatiably
Voraciously
Birds peck at
Unseeing eyes
That stare emptily at the heavens
The age of peace has died
An untimely death this night
Pharaoh grins from the throne
Who speaks for Palestine the innocent
A victim of race
Time
Nationalistic dreams
And silence
What sonnets do I write
What empty words are these
The age of Pharaoh at its zenith
The pen is a sword no more
Violence the gift that the man creature bestows upon itself
The crown it wears
Weep not lest the stars fall
And the heavens crash to your feet
Sing softly rather the song of freedom
That Palestine the innocent
May rise from the ashes
Break her chains
And sing with you
Her song of freedom
Of joy
Of rebirth
Let her touch your breast
That you might have her words
Inscribed in your being
Written on your soul
My pen is broken
My inkwell dry
The candle splutters
And dies out
I savour the darkness
Pensive
Afar
Apart
In the distance I hear a nightingale sing
The song of Palestine the innocent
Notes carrying in the still air
Across time and space
I know in the morrow the sun will rise
And new words will be born
Somewhere in the recesses of my consciousness
I know that in the morrow
I will write new thoughts
Of freedom
Of laughter
Of joy
Of Palestine the innocent
Her unchained dreams
And unfettered memories
Dare I think these thought
Of resilience
Of hope
Of light in the dark
The return of sanity
In a world gone mad
Do I close my eyes
And succumb to the allure of silence
The seduction of forgetfulness
The wiles of inactivity
Nay. Nay.. Nay
Nay I tell you
I shall reach for my pen
Sit in the light
And write sonnets
Of Palestine the innocent
Of her grandeur
Her struggles
Her people
Of who she was
And who she will be
In the sunlit morrow
For she is our memories
She is us
And we will not forget
It is in our memories that she has life
It is in her that we have life
I will write in the morrow
When the shadows have faded
And dreams have new meaning
(South Africa – August 03, 2009; "Songs from the Ether")
