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A NIGHTMARE: COUNTERPOINTS
(For the Palestine Boys Slain on the Beach in Gaza)
1.
They were running through tar-black sand, racing...
for the ball before the waves could pick it up: Aiee…
then a billowing red cloud burned my serpent
kite, its long tail falling by the river bank. Aiee!
What wild wind would wander this way? Why?
It was like a huge face. A very angry face? Why?
Its scowl and its roaring laughter made them all
scamper, hide under overturned fishing boats. Aiee…
It kept on hitting us, the rain of broken pebbles,
and then there was this big blue bird cackling. Aiee…
its quivering beak raised to the darkened sky,
sounding like Grandmother yelling: Go home, boys!
We would pipe down and hear her stoutly protest:
Quiet, quiet! Your grandfather must sleep. Aiee…
2.
Would I get my kite back again? I am afraid,
Grandfather, but I want to go back to that dream,
rebuild my broken kite, bathe in that river,
look for the blue bird that scolded the sky. Aiee…
I want to play ball with the lads on the beach.
They have not come out of the bunker boats, have they?
There’s just splayed legs and split oars and blood flowing
Out of their covers, severed hands, cut off feet, Aiee…
---ALBERT B. CASUGA
July 18, 2014
(For the Palestine Boys Slain on the Beach in Gaza)
1.
They were running through tar-black sand, racing...
for the ball before the waves could pick it up: Aiee…
then a billowing red cloud burned my serpent
kite, its long tail falling by the river bank. Aiee!
What wild wind would wander this way? Why?
It was like a huge face. A very angry face? Why?
Its scowl and its roaring laughter made them all
scamper, hide under overturned fishing boats. Aiee…
It kept on hitting us, the rain of broken pebbles,
and then there was this big blue bird cackling. Aiee…
its quivering beak raised to the darkened sky,
sounding like Grandmother yelling: Go home, boys!
We would pipe down and hear her stoutly protest:
Quiet, quiet! Your grandfather must sleep. Aiee…
2.
Would I get my kite back again? I am afraid,
Grandfather, but I want to go back to that dream,
rebuild my broken kite, bathe in that river,
look for the blue bird that scolded the sky. Aiee…
I want to play ball with the lads on the beach.
They have not come out of the bunker boats, have they?
There’s just splayed legs and split oars and blood flowing
Out of their covers, severed hands, cut off feet, Aiee…
---ALBERT B. CASUGA
July 18, 2014
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