By William Butler Abunimah
That is no country for Palestinians.
The farmers and their olive trees,
The Jewish settlers—at their song
The Gaza fishermen denied the seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Ah, who cares? I can but neglect
Those peasants and their inferior intellect.
An activist is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
The star of David’s cruel conquest,
Yet overcome I shall, and by all counts,
Wretched anti-Semites I do denounce!
Yes, sailing the seas I hereby go
To the holy city of Chi-ca-go!!!!!!
Rabbis of J-Street in Rahm’s holy fire!
As in the gold mosaic of a wall!
I, a gefilte fish swimming ‘round a gyre
For you—the singing masters of my soul,
Jewish bumble bees with vast, colossal empire
And lots of ambrosial honey to spread around!
Gather me like a sick, dying animal—
“Oy! Oy!”—and three cheers that euphonious sound!
Out of your graces I shall never take
My unkempt heart or bodily form
But such as Israeli goldsmiths make—
That golden calf that has been born
To keep drowsy Western emperors awake;
And a Palestinian canary set upon a golden bough to sing
To Zionist lords and ladies of Chicago
Of what is past or what future may bring.
That is no country for Palestinians.
The farmers and their olive trees,
The Jewish settlers—at their song
The Gaza fishermen denied the seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Ah, who cares? I can but neglect
Those peasants and their inferior intellect.
An activist is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
The star of David’s cruel conquest,
Yet overcome I shall, and by all counts,
Wretched anti-Semites I do denounce!
Yes, sailing the seas I hereby go
To the holy city of Chi-ca-go!!!!!!
Rabbis of J-Street in Rahm’s holy fire!
As in the gold mosaic of a wall!
I, a gefilte fish swimming ‘round a gyre
For you—the singing masters of my soul,
Jewish bumble bees with vast, colossal empire
And lots of ambrosial honey to spread around!
Gather me like a sick, dying animal—
“Oy! Oy!”—and three cheers that euphonious sound!
Out of your graces I shall never take
My unkempt heart or bodily form
But such as Israeli goldsmiths make—
That golden calf that has been born
To keep drowsy Western emperors awake;
And a Palestinian canary set upon a golden bough to sing
To Zionist lords and ladies of Chicago
Of what is past or what future may bring.
River to Sea
Uprooted Palestinian
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