Today they say, is refugee day
So the world remembers us, or so they say
When the only one thing soothed, hugged and told “it’ll all be alright”
Is their conscience.
Must we have a day
In your calendar of goodwill?
Striking in hunger for those millions of empty plates. Lighting candles in vigil for 7 nights straight.
Until the matchbox is empty. Until a toast to success is due over a fancy dinner reservation.
Until your next cameo
Sorry, I meant, your dedication to eradicate my cause for sorrow.
Must we have a week
In your calendar of goodwill?
In October you shall brandish in pink
A Band-Aid disguised as a placard disguised as an act that will make people think
And then you move on
To November where you paint a mustache on your face
Eyes skimming past the victims to the likes on your Facebook page
Must we have a month
In your calendar of goodwill?
Remember the Nakba! You wash your keffiyah clean
In your deceptively viscous stream of our diluted dreams
For the fallen soldier you hang a half-rotten garland on a stone engraved
And then walk away, the sentiment dying with the flowers. And not with the stone.
Must we have a day
In your calendar of goodwill?
So please take this empty day, this wretched week, this month that you say is mine
And give us a lifetime of promise in exchange for your crocodile brine
Where the paper cut as you turn the page doesn’t distract you from my pain, nor does the sprain in your wrist as you click the page closed
Take your loud-mouthed philanthropy and fund-raising irony
And tell me your heart truly bleeds for me, and not for the photo of your pearls on the front page of society
That all these charts, these stats, these figures in blood, are drawn from your veins. From an arm brandished voluntarily, where no one else can see.
As you happen to stumble across the day, you shout from the throat to the world to remember, and then x the date
Another job well done
Lather, rinse, repeat
As I stumble alone across a land unknown, I shout from my anguish for the world to truly hear, and then stand in line for your crumb of mercy
Another day to hope
Lather, rinse, repeat
You and your feel-good x’s in your calendar of goodwill.
This day isn’t really for me is it?
It’s for you.
The Kaftan Writer 
Posted on June 20, 2013
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