Poetry: Ashraf AboArafe
O nation once feared for the gallop of its steeds,
Now trembling at the voice of the enemy’s newsfeed!
Since the fall of the Caliphate’s proud walls in the night,
Glory’s been slain by those who sold honor’s light.
They heard “Greater Israel” and… a pen just shook,
The office concerned grabbed a paper, took a look.
Condemnation! Denunciation! Then right on the line—
A carnival of promises and a gut full of wine.
Where are the armies? Will the sword ever speak?
Its edge asleep, its steel grown weak.
They forgot Salah al-Din… forgot Osman too,
Who, in battle’s day, made the heights bow to you.
Woe to a people who, each time slapped,
By an occupier’s hand, go pray and clap!
The crown of Arab pride was sold in lust’s bazaar,
Now you’re scraps of a nation, scattered afar.
To Palestine they say: “Be patient… endure!”
But patience long spent leaves nothing pure.
From podiums they preach, in prayers they swim,
While Al-Aqsa cries out: “Who’ll stand for Him?”
Summits’ vows—each year we’re fed,
On ink from their oil, on bread from their bed.
They fear the loss of a meal if they dare,
And beg the occupier for more aid to spare!
