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Occupation

Misery filled our lungs long before you,
But then you came guns blazing and tear gas popping
Shooting us, shouting  ,  we come in peace,  we come in love
Fuck you and fuck your guns,  I will be ready to die  before you can even count to ten

But how will you know,  who I am,  When I wash up already dead on
The door of my own house,
My million fragmented dreams
Seeping out of my skin,  the last wisps my mortal soul escaping with only
Dreams I ever had

You will build tombs of your victory
Over the ruins of my house,
In Gaza,  in Damascus and in Srinagar
I will be long dead,  but even in
My grave I shall claw at the foundations
Of your houses,  that you build over
My playgrounds

I will whisper the guilt into your ears
Long after last band has gone home,
Scratch my history into your very skin
Right where your sins grafted into mine and my half dead will loom in your family portraits  haunting you till the very end

You will find my book of love songs, 
In my old rooms,  but you will never sing of love again.






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