for the children of Gaza
I saw the carnage . . . saw girl’s dreaming heads
blown to red atoms, and their dreams with them . . .
saw babies liquefied in burning beds
as, horrified, I heard their murderers’ phlegm . . .
I saw my mother stitch my shroud’s black hem,
for in that moment I was once of them . . .
I saw our Father’s eyes grow hard and bleak
to see his roses severed at the stem.
How could I fail to speak?
*****
Michael R. Burch writes: “Three decades ago, I began working with Jewish Holocaust survivors and other Jewish poets to publish translations of previously unpublished poems written in Polish and Yiddish by victims of the Holocaust. Some were written by children. In some cases the poems survived but the names of the poets did not. I considered it a sacred task and believed we were saying “Never again!” to any and all Holocausts. But in my discussions with my Jewish friends, it became apparent that “Never again!” did not apply to the Palestinians. When I asked questions about Israel’s brutal abuses of Palestinians and the theft of their land – armed robbery – my Jewish friends became defensive and told me, essentially, to shut up and never question Israel. Their sudden change in attitude convinced me that something was wrong, deeply wrong. I decided to research the subject independently, invested considerable time, and came to the conclusion that the Palestinian Nakba (“Catastrophe”) is a Holocaust sans ovens, a modern Trail of Tears. And while my country, the United States, has opposed other Holocausts, it is funding this one and supplies Israel with terrible weapons that are being used to mass murder children and their mothers, fathers and families. I will continue to say “Never again!” to any and all Holocausts and invite readers to join me and do what they can to end and prevent such atrocities.”
‘Suffer the Little Children’ has been published by Art in Society (Germany), Pick Me Up Poetry, Jadaliyya (Egypt), The HyperTexts andMESPI (Middle East Studies Pedagogy Institute). According to Google the poem now appears on 462 web pages.
Michael R. Burch is an American poet who lives in Nashville, Tennessee with his wife Beth, their son Jeremy, two outrageously spoiled puppies, and a talkative parakeet. Burch’s poems, translations, essays, articles, reviews, short stories, epigrams, quotes, puns, jokes and letters have appeared in hundreds of literary journals, newspapers and magazines. He is also the founder and editor-in-chief of The HyperTexts, a former columnist for the Nashville City Paper, and, according to Google’s rankings, a relevant online publisher of poems about the Holocaust, Hiroshima, the Trail of Tears and the Palestinian Nakba. Burch’s poetry has been taught in high schools and universities, translated into 19 languages, incorporated into three plays and two operas, set to music by 31 composers, and recited or otherwise employed in more than a hundred YouTube videos. To read the best poems of Mike Burch in his own opinion, with his comments, please click here: Michael R. Burch Best Poems.
Photo: “Untermensch – Hannukah 2008 – Palestinian children killed by Israel in Gaza” by smallislander is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.
Form in Formless Times 
Robin, thanks for publishing this poem on a terrible but important subject.
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I have to assume the Israeli government is driven by the text of Deuteronomy 20: 16-18.
16 But of the cities of these people, which the Lord thy God doth give thee for an inheritance, thou shalt save alive nothing that breatheth:
17 But thou shalt utterly destroy them; namely, the Hittites, and the Amorites, the Canaanites, and the Perizzites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites; as the Lord thy God hath commanded thee:
18 That they teach you not to do after all their abominations, which they have done unto their gods; so should ye sin against the Lord your God.
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Yes, but if Israeli Jews have bloodlines that go back to the original nation of Israel, they are killing their closest relatives on earth. The Bible clearly says that the ancient Hebrews and Palestinians intermarried.
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This Bronze Age genocidal tribalism is one of the worst features of modern humans. And unfortunately it can show up anywhere.
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These are some of my other poems about Palestinian children and their mothers:
Epitaph for a Palestinian Child
by Michael R. Burch
I lived as best I could, and then I died.
Be careful where you step: the grave is wide.
Epitaph for a Palestinian Girl
by Michael R. Burch
Find in her pallid, dread repose,
no hope, alas!, for a human Rose.
who, US?
by Michael R. Burch
jesus was born
a palestinian child
where there’s no Room
for the meek and the mild
… and in bethlehem still
to this day, lambs are born
to cries of “no Room!”
and Puritanical scorn …
under Herod, Trump, Bibi
their fates are the same—
the slouching Beast mauls them
and WE have no shame:
“who’s to blame?”
Frail Envelope of Flesh
by Michael R. Burch
for the mothers and children of Gaza
Frail envelope of flesh,
lying cold on the surgeon’s table
with anguished eyes
like your mother’s eyes
and a heartbeat weak, unstable …
Frail crucible of dust,
brief flower come to this—
your tiny hand
in your mother’s hand
for a last bewildered kiss …
Brief mayfly of a child,
to live two artless years!
Now your mother’s lips
seal up your lips
from the Deluge of her tears …
Night Labor
by Michael R. Burch
for Rachel Corrie
Tonight we keep the flame alive;
we keep the candle lit.
We burn bright incense in your name
and swear we’ll not forget—
your innocence, your courage,
your commitment—till bleak night
surrenders to irrevocable dawn
and hate yields to love’s light.
Amen.
Well, Almost
by Michael R. Burch
Jews and Christians say “Never again!”
to the inhumanity of men
(except when the object of phlegm
is a Palestinian).
I, too, have a dream …
by the Child Poets of Gaza (a pseudonym of Michael R. Burch)
I, too, have a dream …
that one day Jews and Christians
will see me as I am:
a small child, lonely and afraid,
staring down the barrels of their big bazookas,
knowing I did nothing
to deserve such scorn.
King of the World
by the Child Poets of Gaza, an alias of Michael R. Burch
If I were King of the World, I would make
every child free, for my people’s sake.
And once I had freed them, they’d all run and scream
back to my palace, for free ice cream!
Why are you laughing? Can’t a young king dream?
If I were King of the World, I would banish
hatred and war, and make mean men vanish.
Then, in their place, I’d bring in a circus
with lions and tigers (but they’d never hurt us!)
Why are you laughing? What else is a king’s purpose?
If I were King of the World, I would teach
the preachers to always do as they preach;
and so they could practice being of good cheer,
we’d have Christmas —and presents—every day of the year!
Why are you laughing? Some dreams do appear!
If I were King of the World, I would send
my counselors of peace to the wide world’s end …
But all this hard dreaming is making me thirsty!
I proclaim Pink Lemonade; please bring it in a hurry!
Why are you laughing? Mom’ll make it in a flurry!
If I were King of the World, I’d declare
a year of happiness, with no despair—
only playing allowed, for my joyful subjects!
Not a toy left behind! Repair all rejects!
Why are you laughing? Surely no one objects!
If I were King of the World, I would fire
racists and bigots, with their message so dire.
And we wouldn’t build walls, to shut people out.
I would build amusement parks, have no doubt!
Why are you laughing? Should I use my clout?
If I were King of the World, I would drive
a red Ferrari, like no man alive!
But behind would be busses for my legions of friends:
we’d party like maniacs; the fun never ends!
Why are you laughing? Hop aboard! Let’s be friends!
If I were King of the World, I would make
every child blessed, for my people’s sake,
and every child safe, and every child free,
and every child happy, especially me!
Why are you laughing? Appoint me and see!
Such Tenderness
by Michael R. Burch
for the mothers of Gaza
There was, in your touch, such tenderness—as
only the dove on her mildest day has,
when she shelters downed fledglings beneath a warm wing
and coos to them softly, unable to sing.
What songs long forgotten occur to you now—
a babe at each breast? What terrible vow
ripped from your throat like the thunder that day
can never hold severing lightnings at bay?
Time taught you tenderness—time, oh, and love.
But love in the end is seldom enough …
and time?—insufficient to life’s brief task.
I can only admire, unable to ask—
what is the source, whence comes the desire
of a woman to love as no God may require?
Starting from Scratch with Ol’ Scratch
by Michael R. Burch
for the Religious Right
Love, with a small, fatalistic sigh
went to the ovens. Please don’t bother to cry.
You could have saved her, but you were all tied up
complaining about the Jews to Reichmeister Grupp.
Scratch that. You were born after World War II.
You had something more important to do:
while the children of the Nakba were perishing in Gaza
with the complicity of your government, you had a noble cause (a
religious tract against homosexual marriage
and various things gods and evangelists disparage.)
Jesus will grok you? Ah, yes, I’m quite sure!
Your intentions were noble and ineluctably pure.
And what the hell does THE LORD care about Palestinians?
Certainly, Christians were right about serfs, slaves and Indians.
Scratch that. You’re one of the Devil’s minions.
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I only wish that we were always this sensitive as to the impact of the bombs and bullets we either sell to others or rain down on that week’s perceived enemy.
War always sucks, perception of nobility of purpose aside.
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(Hm, who do I know in Briland…?)
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These are some of my other poems about Palestinian children and their mothers:
Epitaph for a Palestinian Child
by Michael R. Burch
I lived as best I could, and then I died.
Be careful where you step: the grave is wide.
Epitaph for a Palestinian Girl
by Michael R. Burch
Find in her pallid, dread repose,
no hope, alas!, for a human Rose.
who, US?
by Michael R. Burch
jesus was born
a palestinian child
where there’s no Room
for the meek and the mild
… and in bethlehem still
to this day, lambs are born
to cries of “no Room!”
and Puritanical scorn …
under Herod, Trump, Bibi
their fates are the same—
the slouching Beast mauls them
and WE have no shame:
“who’s to blame?”
Frail Envelope of Flesh
by Michael R. Burch
for the mothers and children of Gaza
Frail envelope of flesh,
lying cold on the surgeon’s table
with anguished eyes
like your mother’s eyes
and a heartbeat weak, unstable …
Frail crucible of dust,
brief flower come to this—
your tiny hand
in your mother’s hand
for a last bewildered kiss …
Brief mayfly of a child,
to live two artless years!
Now your mother’s lips
seal up your lips
from the Deluge of her tears …
Night Labor
by Michael R. Burch
for Rachel Corrie
Tonight we keep the flame alive;
we keep the candle lit.
We burn bright incense in your name
and swear we’ll not forget—
your innocence, your courage,
your commitment—till bleak night
surrenders to irrevocable dawn
and hate yields to love’s light.
Amen.
Well, Almost
by Michael R. Burch
Jews and Christians say “Never again!”
to the inhumanity of men
(except when the object of phlegm
is a Palestinian).
I, too, have a dream …
by the Child Poets of Gaza (a pseudonym of Michael R. Burch)
I, too, have a dream …
that one day Jews and Christians
will see me as I am:
a small child, lonely and afraid,
staring down the barrels of their big bazookas,
knowing I did nothing
to deserve such scorn.
King of the World
by the Child Poets of Gaza, an alias of Michael R. Burch
If I were King of the World, I would make
every child free, for my people’s sake.
And once I had freed them, they’d all run and scream
back to my palace, for free ice cream!
Why are you laughing? Can’t a young king dream?
If I were King of the World, I would banish
hatred and war, and make mean men vanish.
Then, in their place, I’d bring in a circus
with lions and tigers (but they’d never hurt us!)
Why are you laughing? What else is a king’s purpose?
If I were King of the World, I would teach
the preachers to always do as they preach;
and so they could practice being of good cheer,
we’d have Christmas —and presents—every day of the year!
Why are you laughing? Some dreams do appear!
If I were King of the World, I would send
my counselors of peace to the wide world’s end …
But all this hard dreaming is making me thirsty!
I proclaim Pink Lemonade; please bring it in a hurry!
Why are you laughing? Mom’ll make it in a flurry!
If I were King of the World, I’d declare
a year of happiness, with no despair—
only playing allowed, for my joyful subjects!
Not a toy left behind! Repair all rejects!
Why are you laughing? Surely no one objects!
If I were King of the World, I would fire
racists and bigots, with their message so dire.
And we wouldn’t build walls, to shut people out.
I would build amusement parks, have no doubt!
Why are you laughing? Should I use my clout?
If I were King of the World, I would drive
a red Ferrari, like no man alive!
But behind would be busses for my legions of friends:
we’d party like maniacs; the fun never ends!
Why are you laughing? Hop aboard! Let’s be friends!
If I were King of the World, I would make
every child blessed, for my people’s sake,
and every child safe, and every child free,
and every child happy, especially me!
Why are you laughing? Appoint me and see!
Such Tenderness
by Michael R. Burch
for the mothers of Gaza
There was, in your touch, such tenderness—as
only the dove on her mildest day has,
when she shelters downed fledglings beneath a warm wing
and coos to them softly, unable to sing.
What songs long forgotten occur to you now—
a babe at each breast? What terrible vow
ripped from your throat like the thunder that day
can never hold severing lightnings at bay?
Time taught you tenderness—time, oh, and love.
But love in the end is seldom enough …
and time?—insufficient to life’s brief task.
I can only admire, unable to ask—
what is the source, whence comes the desire
of a woman to love as no God may require?
Starting from Scratch with Ol’ Scratch
by Michael R. Burch
for the Religious Right
Love, with a small, fatalistic sigh
went to the ovens. Please don’t bother to cry.
You could have saved her, but you were all tied up
complaining about the Jews to Reichmeister Grupp.
Scratch that. You were born after World War II.
You had something more important to do:
while the children of the Nakba were perishing in Gaza
with the complicity of your government, you had a noble cause (a
religious tract against homosexual marriage
and various things gods and evangelists disparage.)
Jesus will grok you? Ah, yes, I’m quite sure!
Your intentions were noble and ineluctably pure.
And what the hell does THE LORD care about Palestinians?
Certainly, Christians were right about serfs, slaves and Indians.
Scratch that. You’re one of the Devil’s minions.
LikeLike