Remi Kanazi is a Palestinian-American freelance writer living in NYC. His focus is Middle East politics - specifically Palestinian/Israeli politics. Mr. Kanazi's work has been published in the Palestinian territories, Israel, and America as well as in online magazines around the world. Some Palestinian and Middle East media his work has been featured on includes: Electronic Intifada, Electronic Iraq, Palestine Monitor, Palestine Chronicle, Middle East Online, Palestine Media Center, MIFTAH, Alternative Information Center, Al Jazeera.com, The Jerusalem Times, and Al Bawaba. Mr. Kanazi's work has also been featured on progressive media outlets which include: CounterPunch, ZNet, MR Zine, Alternative Press Review, Media Monitors and Scoops. His personal blog is Poetic Remi, and his Web site is at www.poeticinjustice.net.
I never knew death until I saw the bombing of a refugee camp
Craters filled with disfigured ankles and splattered torsos
But no sign of a face, the only impression a fading scream
I never understood pain
Until a seven-year-old girl clutched my hand
Stared up at me with soft brown eyes, waiting for answers
But I didn't have any
I had muted breath and dry pens in my back pocket
That couldn't fill pages of understanding or resolution
In her other hand she held the key to her grandmother's house
But I couldn't unlock the cell that caged her older brothers
They said, we slingshot dreams so the other side will feel our father's presence
Built homes in areas where no one was building
And when he fell, he was silent
A .50 caliber bullet tore through his neck shredding his vocal cords
Too close to the wall
His hammer must have been a weapon
He must have been a weapon
Encroaching on settlement hills and demographics
So his daughter studies mathematics
Seven explosions times eight bodies
Equals four Congressional resolutions
Seven Apache helicopters times eight Palestinian villages
Equals silence and a second Nakba
Our birthrate minus their birthrate
Equals one sea and 400 villages re-erected
One state plus two peoples…and she can't stop crying
Never knew revolution or the proper equation
Tears at the paper with her fingertips
Searching for answers
But only has teachers
Looks up to the sky and see stars of David demolishing squalor with hellfire missiles
She thinks back words and memories of his last hug before he turned and fell
Now she pumps dirty water from wells, while settlements divide and conquer
And her father's killer sits beachfront with European vernacular
She thinks back words, while they think backwards
Of obscene notions and indigenous confusion
This our land!, she said
She's seven years old
This our land!, she said
And she doesn't need a history book or a schoolroom teacher
She has these walls, this sky, her refugee camp
She doesn't know the proper equation
But she sees my dry pens
No longer waiting for my answers
Just holding her grandmother's key… searching for in ink
Known and very popular cialis coupon which gives all the chance to receive a discount for a preparation which has to be available and exactly cialis coupons has been found in the distant room of this big house about which wood-grouses in the houses tell.
by Remi Kanazi For years the Israeli-Palestinian conflict has been mired by a series of failed peace negotiation, enmeshing Israeli Jews and...
by Remi Kanazi There may have been a period when all roads led to Rome, but for the Palestinian people, all roads lead to checkpoints. The...
by Remi Kanazi The latest back and forth between Israel and the Palestinian unity government (and its regional interlocutors) will not bring...
by Remi Kanazi For all his chauvinistic, misogynistic and racist drivel, old man Imus finally got the boot. I can’t say I feel particularly...
by Remi Kanazi Time and again one is told of the Israeli “left,” the many number of Israelis, ranging from members of the Knesset to shop...
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