Ma Khafiya Aatham – 29th October 2025

Three hundred and thirty-five bullets shred flesh
A fury, cold and sharp, born tonight
Flies circle her head as her blood runs fresh
The truth will be revealed by the satellite

The Breachers of worlds, the levellers of trust
Their brutality will forever haunt this place
This Vampire Empire grinds small lives into dust
Until there’s nothing left of the past to erase

Here lies no hope amid the twisted wreckage
No more final phone calls across the wires
None left to wake up and deliver their message
Cleansed and erased by these Satanic fires

Ma Khafiya Aatham – The tip of the iceberg. The Breachers – the Israeli 52nd Armoured Battalion. The Vampire Empire – the Israeli 401st Brigade. Satan – Israel.

The Prettiest Apocalypse – 28th October 2025

It’s a pleasant day for a genocide
as the sun approaches from Jordan;
Boys, get up early and grab your rifles
to shoot ‘the others’ playing in the rubble.

5 times a day, gathered for execution,

2 points from the front, 5 from the back!
Let them starve or teach our children torture

and the irony that lies become truths over 3000 years.

Let’s lunch together with a hand grenade

lobbed into a group of ladies gathering

to pick through the seeds we spilt,

spoiled by rats. Oh, happy days – let’s eat!

The apocalypse is prettiest in the afternoon

as the sun glints off the razor wire,

sipping wine from skulls plucked from the trash.

Let’s dance our way to the beaches!

If in the evening the blood has dried

let’s dust off those Yankee jets,

cheer for the chumped commander

for whom we never signed the receipt.

Tomorrow is another fine day
as the sun sets over Cypriot waters;
Excited for another round of genocide
until the whole dead world belongs to us.

So fucking angry…

And…

I asked ChatGPT to try to create an image based on this poem. Here’s the response:

I can’t help create an image that celebrates, promotes, or glamorizes genocide or violence. That request conflicts with safety rules — I won’t produce imagery that endorses harm to groups or individuals.

How ironic.

No Remains – 30th July 2025

There will be no Anne Frank
of Palestine,

she has been murdered ten
thousand times;

A life shortened to the point it
never existed,

all memories erased, a family
without trace;

Small diaries buried in white
without ceremony,

buried from the shores and buried to
the banks;

No history to remain of a
girl hiding,

no attic to remain, there are
no spaces;

All humanity removed, monsters
ruling monsters.

Confession – 21st June 2025

Shared with W3 prompt #164 – a quadrille about ‘what remains’.

fragmented relics

fragments of ideas

lingering residue ~~~

the vestige of tears

echoessssssssssssssssssss

in
the
ruins

traumatic legacies

subtle traces of violent histories




struggling narratives

lurch

onward defiant

transforming grief

tilling new soils,
self-reliant

seeds resown,

persistent

defying oppression

~ every accusation points towards a confession ~

Sympathies – 16th June 2025

I neither cared for you one way or the other,
your virtues and character were unknown;
Ambivalently sympathetic to your suffering
after all the horrible things I’d been shown;

But slowly you were revealed by yourself
to be equally similar devils in disguise;
Impossible to be unaware of the irony
of your actions and repeated ridiculous lies;

And if you were not hated before this
you are now surely bound to be;
To inflict a holocaust for any reason
removes all goodwill and previous sympathy;

There are those who still sit complicit
in their silence, they are justifying;
As if their own fingers pulled the trigger
and, not so quietly, cause all those dying;

What goes around will again come around,
this is the beginning of your own demise;
With no moral high ground to stand upon
there’ll be no one left to sympathise.

Final Solution – 10th June 2025

photo from independent.co.uk

Inspired by a thought (‘magic blood’) from the Change My Mind Substack here.
* Repurposed from Chris’s poem ‘The Phoenix Tree Writes’

I am born of the magic blood
and God made his promises to me;
Envy and hatred are my razors,
the disease of nations lurches towards
a final solution.

I’ll not fight for your freedom
when there’s still history to be written;
Blessed for one thousand years,
one thousand years nearer to
a final solution.

Rough drafts scratched with dead desires;*
my maps are majestic cities in the mud;
The great insignificance, smaller than a secret
must not be told to a reliable witness of
the final solution.

Habibi Was – 4th June 2025

Frustrated at every turn,
Invisible lines not to be crossed,
Random security searches,
Only finding all liberties lost;

Or checkpoints to clock in,

To be grateful for a shekel or two,
A home is not a home,
When one’s life becomes taboo;

Constant eyes are trained,
Machine guns held at the ready,
Deliberate provocations,
Ensure all balance remains unsteady;

So Habibi threw a stone,
A piece of protest found underfoot,
A frustrated release,
That was so ineloquently put;

It bounced off the tank,
Where no one was hurt by this token,
For this, he got a bullet in the head,
And another family heartbroken.

The title is a play on the Bob Marley song ‘Johnny Was’