PLASTIC FLOWERS IN PARADISEI.Plastic flowers propped up, Standing in brass cartridge casings Of former anti-tank shells. The war is over Mohammed. Its paraplegic losers roll back towards their homes, Twisted limbs and cutout hearts, Twisted limbs and broken bones. Black-masked steel, Who is the mightier power? Arab eyes? Jew noses? Who bleeds the history books? Who paints their own people In black oils? Is this field mined? Will this tree grow? II. "The car blew up over there." He points at a charred stone wall. "They came during the night in rubber dinghies." She points towards a bullet-riddled villa. My bones, your bones. My brother, your son. My son, your brother. The war is over Ilan. Your son is born into a world Of blue ocean and sun and sea And green orchards And death And death And murder And defense And justice And injustice Your justice Their suffering Their justice Your suffering My justice. III. Jericho Oh Jericho has no more walls. Jericho dry Jericho has no more tears. No more tears to shed. No more Psalms to sing. No more graves to rob. The Lebanon Oh sweet cedar scent Burns and hands reach out from The rubble, bubble, rubble, bubble Bubble barrel oil. In the West all is best. Their B-52s bring our nourishment While the other's Kalatchinakovs Feed our children's imaginations. Abraham's sons duel. They smile at one another and show Their teeth. The Holy Land is riddled enough. Mohammed take my hand Our wheelchairs need oiling. |