#Occupied "poetry"

Always with the opressed,

never innocent

always naive

Never stop looking at the world puzzled.


my eyes are open, wide open,

my heart hacked.


I run from tear gas canisters, dodge rubber coated bullets

I fight border police officers, soldiers, soldiers, my own brothers

myself- am I doing it right?

I fight guilt, shame, responsibility, memory, media,

I freeze. Shocked. I can't move a thing.

And if I scream, who will hear me out?

I ask world to stop the torture,

but I can't stop my own torture,

& what suffering I can understand but my own?

& how can I understand what is  unsignified to the point of meaningless

the suffering of me being one in many

infinite others

known as people

as collective?

How could I claim to posses the other's suffering while I can't claim my own?

Pain is expropriated by state, nothing is my own,

I am one speaking of others that speak myself

and we call this echoing solidarity,

a method to keep something human

when humanity is violated according to law

when law means no justice,  when reconciliation brings no comfort

my body is my broken shield,  to be striped , to be searched, to taken the beaten

my body is confiscated in favor of struggle, my body is occupied by state terror, my body writes bruised reports

of a mind that no longer posses its own thoughts, just recording

my mind is a collaborating witness of occupation

& if I die, I will take the occupation down to the grave with me,

and you my brothers, my other brother, avenge but one of my missing eyes.


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