Poetry: Ashraf AboArafe
O nation of wounds — thy third summit convenes,
While Gaza still weeps, her children unseen.
The peoples cry out: “Cut the oil from the foe!”
Yet leaders who vowed it, are silent and slow.
Close down the seas and the skies to their flight,
Let no hostile bird dare to soar in our night.
Send forth an army to shatter their walls,
For naught but the end of Zion’s reign befalls.
Restore to the pages of history past
The oneness of nations, unbroken, steadfast.
A dinar, a dirham, when placed in the fight,
Restores trade’s glory, a heritage bright.
And bind your faith to a single creed,
That raises the youth on Revelation’s seed.
Egypt proclaimed with her army so near,
Yet labors in councils with words, not spear.
Thus perished the cry of justice in halls,
Where thrones weighed heavy, and hope but falls.
Qatar, that once grasped, then faltered, withdrew,
And treaties denied by the faithless grew.
The summit’s oration — a lukewarm stream,
No draught for the thirsty, no guiding dream.
What statement is this, so feeble, so frail,
Conspired in whispers where promises pale?
You barter the blood of nations away,
To tyrants whose hands in oppression stay.
See RUBIO in Tel Aviv, bold in his vow:
“The ancient alliance stands stronger now.”
While you, in assemblies, inscribe on the air,
Mere words like the wind — they vanish, they tear.
In slaughter, content with a “condemnation” phrase?
Can chants and protests set fire ablaze?
Gaza calls out: “Is there none to defend?
No armies to muster, no hearts to lend?”
“Are there no men to recall their fame,
To stand on the borders, to guard the name?”
O summit proclaimed “the Third Emergency,”
You crumbled on stages of shame, for all to see.
If honor you answer not, face to face,
Will God then have mercy, or grant you grace?
Take your seat of disgrace, inscribed evermore,
For Judgment shall strike you — account to the core.
