They shoot children, don't they?

By Salameh A. Nsour, Ph.D.

They shot and killed and killed

They shot him more and more

To kill him so many times

The bullets made a circle on the wall

With Mohammed's heart its center

A hole in the wall

Right next to his bleeding father

Wailing was the twelve-year old boy

Under the high concrete wall

Now a Muslim wailing wall

The father's arms tried to shield

The high-powered bullets

(Made in the West/shot in the East)

>From reaching his little son

But in vain as both dropped and twitched

The son's hand loosened from the dad

And his face fell on dad's leg

The dad swelling from bleeding

With an open mouth and a hand on the boy

Leaning to the wall, unconscious and staring

They both ceased to be

A danger to the squadron now

To ensure more death, few bullets came

Hitting the human dart board; a soldierly game

Through this scene, the world sees

How beasts can enjoy their kill

With bullets as claws and teeth

Slaughtering cubs next to their dads

>From this scene, the end can be seen

Of killers roaming the alleys

Forget their wealth, their might, and their lovers

For they will be killed by their own fear

Oh Mohammed, rest in peace

Play with martyrs your age or younger

They too were ripped by holy bullets

Shot at them by the holiest

Who will never be called terrorist?

For their terrorizing holiness

brings them no shame nor blame

Nor a dirty name

And with such a divine immunity

Given to the killers

By all the able and the learned

Peace will never arrive

And it will continue to stay away

>From where bias and injustice thrive

Despite all the wishes of killers and their lovers

To bring dead peace around

And dump it on the ground

Your mom's eyes are very dry

Staring at the roads

Ascending to your home

"Surely he will come"

"Maybe he is late"

She says

Despite what she watched

The long moments prior to your death

Televised on the screens

Your five birds you left behind

Have been freed from the cage

Be happy for they managed to fly

So high

Away from the killer's bullet range

Worse than killers in this life are

Their free enslaved lovers

Refusing to call a killer a killer

Despite the blood on both hands

They only say "you were caught in cross fire"

"your little hand looked like a guided missile"

That is why the poor soldiers had to kill

You are guilty oh Mohammed

Had you not been created and alive

They would never have killed you

How amazing in this so-called civilized wired world

Children killers have to lie and lie

And so do their far away lovers

To make the story fit their wishes and hatefulness

With phrases and past participles

To make the uncertainty wash their killers

>From shame, blame or any special name

Some hope with their fancy reports

Those killed might look as killers

At the end of the day

In the eyes of the wired but weird world

But those who die in their blood

Mixed with the soil they love

Their blood is their eternal testimony

of innocence and of their desire to freely live

No guns or bullets in their hands

Except tiny stones from their lands

Children's blood will stain killers' souls

Washed or not, it stays and grows

Its smell goes to the fabric of killers'brains

To make their world entrenched in red

And insane

I wish you tell us from heaven

How terror befell you

While clinging to your dad

pleading them not to shoot

But I wonder if the World ever will or can

Dare to call your killers terrorists

Or is that such a name

reserved only for the infidels (in their eyes)

and for people of your skin?

The lovers of killers will only dare to say

"You died in a war; a normal thing to happen"

or "you just were killed in the battlefield by the bullets"

How come the lovers of killers only use

The past participle not the active tense

When the killers are well-known two-legged beasts

and not the bullets

And they call it a war

When "only one army was shooting"

Amazing how much ignorance and injustice

Can be begot

with knowledge and hate fused in a strong lover's heart

Rest in peace, Mohammed,

away from this World of lies

The so-called free wired world

You left behind

Is void of truth, freedom, and civility

Rest in peace and play

With heavenly toys of your own

And no bullets to shred you again

Again and again

Again and again

Again and again