Nakba,2018 Poem by jackilton peachum

O, Palestinan people, you are no longer relevant!
The day of the Nakba is remembered
- seventy years and your name omitted, the world is lost to you,
History has turned her eyes away,
History has erased you.
Deir Yassin is forgotten— ashes blow in the wind, blood flows-
Yawm an-Nakba, yawm an-nakba-

Day of Disaster, day of misery, day of sadness-
The world yawns at the loss,
The world goes on forgetting:
On that day, the women lamenting,
Mothers weeping, tearing their clothes,
Cry for the children, for those dead, for those about to die,
Cry for the walk out of Palestine,
Cry for the raped women of Deis Yassin—
Cry for the children murdered—

Turn your face to the wall, you who have nothing,
You are a whisper in the wind—and the wind too forgets!
Your grandchildren no longer remember the name of the village,
Nor the olive trees, nor the dropping down of soft evening,
Nor a place of water and fruit, nor the Bedouin on the hill,
Gone is the goatherd, the tinkling of the small bells,
Gone is the house of your ancestors—

The day of terror, the day of diaspora is at hand,
the day of Israeli occupation wears on,
and you are free to walk into the desert,
into the fire of Israeli guns,
into the bulldozers, the fire of destroyed houses—
justice is truly blind here—and deaf—and dumb.
Yawm an-Nakba, yawm An-Nakba!