On the assassination of Sheikh Ahmed Yassin (1936-2004)
(Written on the assassination of Sheikh Ahmed Yassin, the political leader of Hamas. He was killed by a missile fired upon him in Gaza, Palestine, on March 22, 2004 by Israel from a US-supplied Apache helicopter. The entire world, with the exception of the United States, condemned this extrajudicial execution committed with impunity by a member of the United Nations in violation of international law. Among those who denounced this murder as unlawful are: Kofi Annan, secretary-general of the United Nations, Javier Solana, the European Union’s top foreign and security official, Jack Straw, the United Kingdom’s foreign secretary, and Dominique de Villepin, the French foreign minister.)
He’s not dead, not he,
He was set free from earthly misery.
The fearless paraplegic’s temporal sojourn was cowardly ended,
Not on a death-bed, but on his friendly wheelchair, never hid.
The world, with but one exception,
Damned his dastardly assassination.
His soul heavenwards soared like a bird, singing,
To join the uppermost ranks of mortals ever-lasting.
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In the eyes of the arrogant and the obtuse,
Arabs must accept heap upon heap of abuse.
Palestinians for their rights on bended knees must plead.
Else, their fate is on television screens everyday to bleed.
But resisting occupation, combating annihilation, is a sin,
As state murder of innocents is, paradoxically, deemed a win.
Terror is in the eye of the beholder:
One man’s terrorist, is another’s freedom-fighter.
**********************
What’s the macabre scene I see?
A demonic architect of death in glee:
Zion’s Sharon, the rogue bull,
In the world’s china shop, in cry full,
Bringing death to the Palestinians — but no genuflections —
With Uncle Sam’s never-ending gifts of deadly weapons,
Perpetuating an occupation fifty years long,
Muzzling an oppressed folk’s freedom song,
Obsession-ridden with land-grabbing,
With a complicit, acquiescent world, napping,
Leading mighty America by the nose,
And killing peace with a lethal dose,
Sowing rank seeds of violence and hate all over the globe,
Yielding a bitter harvest, unquestioned, without a probe.
This tragedy is daily played on the stage,
Don’t you wonder at the folly of this age?
**********************
“What about the Arabs?” you ask.
“In total indifference we bask.
“The howling storm we blindly ignore.
“To the cries of our brethren we close the door.
“A code of silence we observe,
“And march headlong in reverse.
“Meek periodic protests we bleat,
“And, yes, humble pie we dutifully eat.
“In humiliation and fear live we.
“Most have lost hope in our destiny.
“Many cry till their eyes are sore,
“Just as did all the impotent of yore.
“Haven’t we to unfathomable lows sunk,
“Reeling from defeat to defeat as a drunk?
“But hope springs eternal among those not blind:
“If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?”
**********************
He’s not dead, not he.
We’re the walking dead, not he.
Celestial life puts a sweet end to all woes,
For God on His servants His favors bestows.
So your heavy heart should his death not grieve:
A better death he himself could hardly conceive.
Not a sorrow hang on your eyelashes,
As his ending in front of you flashes.
No more, oh! no more, over him weep.
He is in God’s blessed, eternal keep.
Await him there paradisial pleasures he sought:
Delights never seen, never heard, never thought.
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