Do not forget

Thirteen hundred awkward ‘I Love You’s’
Once whispered from mouths hopeful in solitude
Now buried forever. Beneath rubble and memory.
Look closer. A child’s hand. Phosphorus eyes.
The soldier’s smile reflecting national pride.

The machine gun screams.
We are the victims. We are the victims.
Manufactured caste leads a people to genocide.
Headline reads: Israel retaliates after rockets fired
Sixty-one years of occupation forgotten.
Simplified. Sensationalised. Legitimised.
We perpetuate the lies through silkscreen eyes.

In workplace conversation we reiterate their racism.
Portray the situation with inane misinformation.
‘Those mad Arabs just need to be civilized’ he says.
While we beat our wives and practice our own apartheid.
Wrapped in the butchers apron behind our white picket fence.
Screaming ‘oi oi oi’ til the bombs come home to roost.

And in an instant soundbite commercial all is lost.
The thousands dead exiled to page 48 in small print.
The death of Dafur, Gaza, Iraq, Zimbabwe, Afghanistan.
See no, hear no, speak no - all is forgotten.

You turn the dial. Close the blinds. Open eyes with no mind.
My every sentence breaking into fractures, soon to lose syllables.
Resonance. Determination. Meaning. But this is not a dream.

From this page to this mouth to the radio to your head – this is still reality.

There are still thirteen hundred dead.

Do not forget.