To do or not to do
I mutter a line of verse or two
And I am in prison.
I am in prison for writing poetry.
I am in prison
For muttering poetry
For daring to think
For trying to pull a Shakespeare
I am in prison
Words …words…words… words…
And I am in prison
For words.
What would Hamlet say?
Chains to the sweet?
Cruel to be cruel?
To die to die?
No chance to dream?
****
I am at the stake
I am being burnt
For being here
For writing poetry
I am in prison.
***
To those in prison
For daring to think
For daring to write
For daring
For being
For breathing
Sweets to the sweet.
I am free.
There is nothing bad about poetry
But Israel makes it so.
So, resist, my people, resist them.
Resist, my people, resist them.
***
Everything is rotten in Israel.
It is rotten to the core.
Its letters:
The ‘I’ is not an eye;
They do not see here.
The ‘S’ snakes into my prison.
Ra
Eel.
Yuck!
Look who is in prison now!
israel.
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“The ‘I’ is not an eye;
They do not see here.
The ‘S’ snakes into my prison.
Ra
Eel.
Yuck!”
ah to be a fly on the inner walls of refaat’s mind.