Poem: For a few bullets more

Gaza is now just a rubble. Cement dust fills the air and covers the ignominy of strife and death — the trail left behind by the so-called ‘liberal marauders’.

It was wrong to start this but it was wrong to continue. But who sees reason? What is the use of liberty, when there is no life to enjoy?

Freedom always comes at a cost. The oppressed become the oppressors, and the cycle continues. History repeats itself.

All, because somebody, somewhere wanted to sell a few bullets more.

Ramsey Hanhan 🇵🇸 🌍 — there is still poetry left.

Poem: FOR A FEW BULLETS MORE

Death is so cheap
That life isn’t worth a dime
I thought it was the color
Or a holier-than-thou cause
Or maybe, it was historical
Maybe, a dose of history
That decides who we care about

Here is the façade —
The cover story is liberty
Wrapped in democracy
The good vs the bad guys
Who decides that
The villains must die
Not the man, but the clan

If Ukrainians are the victims
Then what about Palestinians?
A human life must be worth the same
The usual suspects perhaps
I thought it was the color
Or a holier-than-thou cause
Or maybe, it was historical
Maybe, a dose of history

Yes, a dose of history
It is always been —
Business as usual
Else, find a reason
To start a strife
To sell something
The consumers must die
Or maimed for life
Broken bones and families
The usual suspects perhaps
I thought it was the color
Or a holier-than-thou cause
Or maybe, it was historical
Maybe, a dose of history

The walled garden
Filled with the aroma of
carefully crafted narratives
That people breathe in deep
remember —
‘Weapons of Mass Destruction?’
So nicely wrapped
In the words ‘Liberty and Democracy’
And soaked in poison
‘they must be the villains’
To just sell a few more
Guns, bullets and bombs.

Autocracy we detest
But hypocrisy is even more
When it is wrapped as
The usual suspects perhaps
Making us think it was the color
Or a holier-than-thou cause
Or maybe, it was a historical
Maybe, a dose of history
That we always have to choose between
Autocracy and Hypocrisy
In truth — we are deciding
For a few bullets more.

~Ashok Subramanian © 2024

I am adding Ramsay’s poem here serves as an inspiration for those who stand up for hypocrisy.

MY POETRY DIED IN GAZA
No verse to extoll the flower
Guillotined by the tread of a tank

No rhyme for the hungry dog
Eating a cousin’s corpse

My verses decomposed beside
The face of a woman peeking from the rubble

Emotions exhausted running–
Down tear-grooved faces long dried

English words I find too fat
To depict the bones of a famined child

A lovely family of four
In adjacent body bags–

Three children under five
With three legs among them–

That’s just this morning’s feed
Day 269?

I was spared, today so far,
The sight of fire swaddling a child

Who’s left to write — now –
Now that poetry in Gaza died?


Inspired by The Poem, by Lisa Suhair Majaj, and by six more months of genocide.

With love,
Ramsey Hanhan
Author, Fugitive Dreams

Read this. Again and again.

~Ashok Subramanian © 2024