Sabra and Shatila

Buildings with gaping eyes bear mute witness,

their pock marked and stained faces a silent testimony

Bodies lay crumpled like a childs discarded playthings,

tossed, broken and forgotten

Crimson haloes making saints

of the men, women and children,

only death erasing the discrimination bought by life

An armoured fence of steel, tread and turret,

lashed together with myths of land,

turning back those whose only crime is wanting life

Men who fail to see their parents reflected in those eyes,

pleading before them,

for righteousness and religion make powerful blinders

Whilst hawks peer down from vantage high,

lighting the night for Bashirs children of the cross,

who in carrying on the great tradition

again crucify the innocent

A stadium that trembles with the roar of bulldozers,

down to its foundations,

where the faces of the disappeared are remembered in the dark

History,

it seems,

has quite the stutter