Zainab Nasratis digt om Israel- Palæstina-konflikten

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Af Zainab Nasrati, digter

The holy home of prophets is suddenly in need of renovation.

The holy home of prophets is crumbling while

people on my silent streets are adding crumble to their ice creams.

This place is so silent it hurts my guts.

The bombings are loud and dead bodies that used to be alive yesterday

woke up to being ornaments decorating and rearranging the walls of Jerusalem today.

Still my streets are silent, my work schedule is unaffected.

The tv is still only talking about this virus.

Rarely realising that the real virus is within our lame-duck commissions.

Come along and raise your hands with us,

Maybe – your voice with ours could breathe life into our ambition.

Bombings are loud, and the prayers are too. But this world just does not really seem hear them.

Or they do. But they don’t really see them.

Well they do. But they efficiently censor their every call for help, allthough waiting for help is long overdue.

I do not know who they are

I only see what they do.

Those who choose sides when telling this story

blurring the content and calling it offensive

making headlines for clicks but they do not call it ethnic cleansing.

Those who fund the bombs but puts on serious faces when preparing human rights talks.

I do not know who they are

I only see what they do.

And calling for help is long,

long overdue.