Go Drink The Sea

Sixty years,
bright olive orchard anniversary flags,
milk and honey,
and
al-Nakbah.
The land at the edge of sea
will never give voice
to the rage
ambitions
and sorrows
that feed the prickly
sabr
growing
in grey cinder block
barrakiyats.
Nor will it sing and
dance at the milking of cows
and harvest of apples
in green field girdled
kibbutzim.
The land does not know
waqf,
aliyah,
zionism,
The Balfour Declaration,
feda'iyyin,
the Dreyfus Affair.
It cannot.
In the time that passes
it will sleep
while blurred notions
of joy,
hatred,
pride,
family,
God
and home
draw lines
on its arms and legs,
lace their fingers
around the throats
of their children,
strangle
and weep.