(Um Ahmad: a Palestinian poetess)
Come, my brother, enter herein-- enter my life.
You wanted to know. You wanted to see. Come taste my strife.
You speak of peace so easily -- not knowing my war -- not feeling my pain.
Your "justice for all" is only "justice for few" while the guilty remain.
You want us to put weapons down, while their weapons persist.
For you -- easy talk. For you -- food, family and freedom exist.
It might make you feel good to speak out on aggression and say that you care.
But that does not give you license to make my decisions while I am not there.
You set up your conferences to "educate others" on our situation.
Yet, you pick your own speakers to represent us while we lose our nation.
You say you are with us and convince all around you it is peace that you seek.
You say you will listen. You say you will hear us. But you won't let us speak.
And you with the peace signs, organizing your marches, please only yourselves.
You think your good thoughts can alone change the world like your signs on the shelves.
You must face reality. You think it is simple -- it simply is not.
Reality is watching your land taken away and your relatives shot.
Two fingers up does not stop a bullet and make everything right.
Righteous indignation does you no good if you won't see the light.
You ask lots of questions, but won't hear our answers about what we need.
The only thing left is for me to invite you to come watch me bleed.