FRATRICIDE

My Arab brother
I now fast your Ramadan
Because it was I
Who fed that big gun
Which took your life
And your blood mixed with
Our earth

Your woman tore her hair
While mine clutched me to her
In the night
I was your life
My woman your wife

Your children chose darkness
To become our conscience
Our people commit fratricide
And our fathers sow the seeds
Of future Shivas

How do we cut that tie
When we terminate a life?
The palms wear rings
Rings for each war
Rings for each body
Each boy we lose becomes
Some sort of unlucky Issac
And Ishmael we are given
No choice
We have no voice
We are only actors in History’s
Nightmare

My Arab brother
We who both know Abraham
Let us throw down our knives
In exchange for the plow’s blade
The spilled blood from the past
Can only fertilize


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Copyright 1998 by Philip Hyams. Send comments to jfmorales@baharna.com.