The Palestine Chronicle is pleased to feature a poem by J. A. Miller.
Voldemort in Gaza – Operation ‘Cast Lead’
By J. A. Miller
He went down to Gaza to play games
Spinning a dreidel that spits bullets
Into brains, a children’s toy
That kills children
In the Locked Kindergarten
Lo! The Pureblood Flight of Death is airborne
His word is law; you are nothing, Ay-rabs
Starving infants clinging to a mother’s corpse
Drugged cockroaches
Disobey him? He’ll cast lead wrath at you
Happy Hanukkah!
He chose the dreidel with care
As his holy symbol of madness and death
Activating dark marks everywhere
Tingling, burning
Commanding utter obedience
Hey! Step into line, I mean YOU!
Blood is thicker than water
Thicker than the blood of The Other
Omerta binds us
Back me up on this one or else
Each time he looks from the window of your house
And sees your eyes, watches you
Tending a garden, carrying your child
Fury washes over him
The enormity plucks at his skin, pricks his sanity
So he spins the dreidel in a burning white cloud
He walls you out, expels you and kills you so he can forget
Eighty long years of theft and murder
Soothed with leaden gelt
That’s a whole lot of guilt
He was the Death Wish sprung from spurious texts
Disguised as rosy-cheeked Pioneer
Long before the Holocaust
He lurked under a stone
Lusted after your groves and your fields
Loyal to your foolish ancient code of hospitality
You invited him into your homes
With forked tongue he lapped at your coffee
Inventoried your furniture
Adding photos and maps: The Village Files
He noted down the names of those
Who had resistance in their hearts
Sorted in order of priority to be dealt with later
(They were)
He’s still making a list and checking it twice
With malice aforethought he planned the heist
How many commandments violated?
A sullen Charleton Heston holds stone tablets
Like tombstones
In front of a Mississippi court house
Thou shalt not steal, lie or covet
Oh man, did he ever covet: Cities, villages, houses
Wells, herds, crops, shrines, arbors, stones, your very lifeblood
Stole a whole country
For he is the Jealous God
See how smooth he is, his mouth gaping with lies?
Crying and shooting is what he does best
Bokhim ve-yorim; another children’s game
Boo-hoo, I’m a victim!
Bang-bang, you’re dead!
Amiri Baraka knows what is required:
Assassin poems
Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
Poems that shoot guns
Put it on him, poem!
So I aim a poem at Voldemort and his minions
O dreidel-spinners in Gaza!
Remorse has moved beyond your reach
O criminals! O sons of criminals!
These bullets of the poet are surely coming for you:
"Here upon your chests we shall remain
Like the glass and the cactus in your throats
A fiery whirlwind in your eyes
Our roots are entrenched deep in the earth
Like twenty impossibles
We shall remain
We shall remain." *
-From Here We Will Stay by Tawfiq Zayyad
