gsmith at clark.edu
Wed Aug 7 14:40:02 MDT 2002
Iron and blood!... That's your real redeemer,
Hidden in your sanctuaries for a long, long time.
Thanksgiving offerings you glandly brought Him
And pious supplications you offered in hymn
On every mountain and hill.
Iron and blood were hardened in your temples
Of spilled blood you joyfully sang.
Father his son taught man to subdue
Of arrows and bows mother sang to her babe.
Violin and harp were smashed,
Sword of spade was made
. . . But the mask of your hypocrisy
Was finally torn off your face...
The iron sword still cuts
The flesh of the human race,
And blood to blood cries
>From East to West
And everywhere in space...
About the slain of nations
Your marchers sing,
And your wine of joy
>From human skulls you drink.
Noah Pniel, "Al Pitchei T'hom"
from __The voice of my blood cries out__
Could have been written yesterday?
Could have been written by a Palistinian or a Blackfoot?
The Iron Horse and the Hotchkins Gun, The Jet-Missiles, Tanks and Uzi's.
Geronimo's skull in the bowels of the Tomb, skulls in the sands of Judea.
In the ghetto, or in the refugee camp, or on the reservation, oppression
still smells the same: people dying, corpses rotting, starving masses.
If these are not a nation, then genocide is complete.
If these people have already disappeared as a people,
then who shall you hang for this crime against humanity.
>From East to West, from Tibet to Navajo and Hopi
hear them singing songs of slaying, patriotic braying
on the land of the dispossessed.
Still hiding in your sancturaries, the insidious conspiracy
shuffling your crimminals from here to there: from one
residential to another, one private school to the next.
Trauma to trauma, spell it out in verse.
Blood to blood to see the substance of the struggle,
now tear off your face and expose your hypocrisy.
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