Blood Oranges Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

Blood Oranges

On a hill top I saw the sundown, but still, it made clouds
like blood -red oranges: in my childhood when there was
a rumour that a fruit shop was selling them there was a line of people
wanting to buy, they - the oranges- were sweeter than normal.
The sweat from Palestinians brows- one might assume- but we were
not to know this exploitation we thought the fruit Israeli and knew
nothing about Palestine.
The Jews had suffered much and deserved a homeland far away as
possible, anyway the Arab were not trusted the newspaper said; and
they were lazy, but know, we are aware a different story and the blood
in the oranges are tears of those who were evicted from their land to give
room for blood thirsty settlers.