Solidarity with the People of Gaza

gaza(We Nepalese People the Writers and Journalist always stand with the people of Gaza and condemn the Israel’s terror upon the Palestinian People . We express our strong solidarity with the writers and artists of California, who have established a Facebook Group against the Gaza attack by Us Backed Isreal, one of the leading terrorist country in the world. We appreciate the poem ‘ Calling the End’ . In fact as the poet says it is a poem without end. Here we are posting the solidarity poem by Devorah major the 3rd San Francisco Poet Laureate ( in 2003) . We know her as a poet, novelist, teacher and art activist. We have taken this poem from the blog Frontlines of Revolutionary Struggle. We are posting this poem with the editorial of Frontlines of Revolutionary Struggle.)
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From Every Land, the People Stand With Gaza
[In cities and towns worldwide, protests have been raised in solidarity with the people of Gaza. Many such protests have faced police attacks with clubs and gas, and media condemnation and slanders that standing with Palestinians is somehow anti-Semitic or terrorist. Yet, still we march in anger at Israel’s precision targeted killing of hundreds of civilians, hundreds of children, who are trapped in the world’s largest open air prison with nowhere to escape the Israeli bombs. And the solidarity takes many forms as the false legitimacy of the settler-colonial regime shreds, hour after hour. In California, poets established a Facebook group, Artists Against Attacks on Gaza, asking poets to write to and for the names of the dead in Gaza (see http://972mag.com/nobody-should-be-a-number-names-of-those-killed-in-gaza/93274/). devorah major, the 3rd San Francisco Poet Laureate (in 2003), wrote the following, which, she says, is a poem without end. — Frontlines ed.]
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Calling the dead

I start to read the names and ages
Abed whose name means worship
was a year younger than my son
and the forgiving Samih
perhaps his one year old child
the baby of seven of the Jarad family
who died together on a Friday
day of prayer as a tank
bombarded their home
Amjad most glorious one
was as old as my grandson
did he too have a smile
that lit the musty crevices
of a jaded cynic’s heart
he died on a day of play
with his teen aged brothers
probably holding him close
telling him not to fear
as they stifled their own trembling
and death screeched through their home
the names are like bird songs
as i read them out loud
Salam of peace
Zeinab the fragrant plant
Alaa exalted and full of faith
Ranim at eighteen months
her name is itself
a musical tone
maybe found in the lullaby her
father sang as he rocked her in his arms
that night when they died together
my tears flow salt full and bitter
but i know there is no
purpose in my distant despair
these names tell a story
the story of my family
i go up and down the list
trying to find some solace
some small victory
In all the mayhem
but all i can find is tears
and howls and fury
I try to piece together the families
is she a sister or wife
is he uncle or father
is she grandmother or aunt
they had certainly prayed that last day
but was there too a moment of laughter
in the face of the wrenching barbarism
did they proudly raise their voices
in song tell each other stories
of glory and victory
did they find courage
nobility
quiet
in the rubble made
of their homes their schools
their temples
their hospitals
their corner of a country
their rich full lives
does it even matter
that a half a world away
is a woman who loved them
and voices their names
as she honors their
struggle and cries for their loss
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