We Pluck Flowers

We pluck flowers from the garden

and make a bouquet

 

we pluck strings on the guitar

and make music

 

we pluck feathers from a chicken

and make a meal

 

we pluck people from their homes and villages,

shove them into refugee camps,

bomb the refugee camps

and make it look

like they are the terrorists

when the medics tending those shot

for non-violent protest

are met with snipers bullets,

when the children throwing stones

out of anger and frustration

fear and desperation,

are met with snipers bullets,

when the scant mortars fired blindly

by a few of the occupied,

broken,

traumatized refugees

are met with the billion dollar advanced military weaponry

of their oppressors,

leveling homes,

hospitals,

and schools…

when the survivors are picked off by snipers

one by one

as they sift through the rubble to retrieve the dead,

when refugees are turned into refugees

again and again and again…

 

We pluck flowers from the garden

and make a bouquet

to place on the graves of the dead

 

we pluck strings on the guitar

and make music

to play in memory of the dead

 

we pluck feathers from a chicken

to make a meal

to nourish the grieving,

and give them the strength

to continue their struggle for freedom…

About soitgoes1984

I was born and raised on land stolen from the Pocumtuc. I now live on a small island in the middle of the Pacific ocean, on land that was stolen more recently, from the Hawaiians. I am addict, struggling to kick the habit of fossil fuel. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
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