They came from Europe,
these people, single and in
families, eager to settle.
They said they were returning
home, though we had never
seen them, were here
for generations stretching back
for a thousand years
or more. Then, along
about 1917 – a British Lord
named Balfour said our land
was theirs without asking if
we minded. And so they came,
saying our land was empty,
was full of sand and little
else. Failing to see our ancient
olive groves, our cities, our
libraries and our learning,
they took everything
they wanted, killed our people
and destroyed our villages,
setting a million people
fleeing for their lives, then
denied us the right to remember
the event. They call their
attackers the most moral army
in the world. But we remember
the grandmother sitting on her
veranda embroidering a gift for
her granddaughter, when a
sniper sent a bullet through
her head. We remember the
schoolchildren obliterated
by a bomb dropped by this
very moral airforce, and all
the other bombs
too numerous to count.
When will it end? Have we to
weep a tide of bitterness
until all our memories
of joy are erased and replaced
with sadness?
What is wrong with
people that they mistreat
others with demonic fury
and contempt, yet continue
to proclaim their innocence
and see themselves as the victims?
– George Polley is a novelist and a poet. He is the author of The Old Man and The Monkey, Grandfather and The Raven, Bear, and, most recently “The City Has Many Faces“. He contributed this poem to PalestineChronicle.com. Visit his blog.