Must We Have A Day

Posted on June 20, 2013



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.

Posted in: Blogpost, Poetry, Society