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The Free Gaza Art Festival
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On this page: a painting by Maurice, WDA from Gaza sent in the poem "A Gaza story", Alex Kirby sings a sad "Gaza ABC", ZakiWorld showed me the drawing STOP KILLING GAZA KIDS, Max Ajl wrote A Letter to Israel about the Dignity, and more poetry with Jo Neace Krause "old land" and Hilda Meers' TO A BYSTANDER WHO ASKS, WHAT IS A HOLOCAUST? Dean Omori sent the song "SO MUCH FOR PRAYER", Ronna Bouche's poem "Z" IS FOR ZIONIST and Leena Ghani's story "The Land With No Children".

:: Alex Kirby : Song 'Gaza abc' ::
Listen to the song at http://www.myspace.com/alexkirbyalex. Lyrics below.

'Gaza abc'
Alex Kirby

A,b,c stop killing me,
D,e,f you all,
G,h,i don't want to die,
Its j,k, hell on earth.
This is me learning very well my Gaza abc,
This is me learning very well my Gaza abc.
M,n,o not my classroom,
P,q,r you mad.
S,t,u shoot bombs in here,
V,w,x,y me,
Z, my friends they all lie sleeping.
Zzzz we all lie sleeping.

1,2,3 is given me,
free time from falling death.
4,5,6 I pick up sticks,
My friends they're buried yet,
This is me learning very well my Gaza abc,
And I'm taking my education very seriously.
7,8,9 minutes of time,
they got back to working early,
It's 10 to 12 and its raining shells,
You know the peace was sweet but hurried.
This is me, Ma, learning very well my Gaza abc,
I'm taking my education very seriously.
:: ZakiWorld STOP KILLING GAZA KIDS ::


© ZakiWorld
:: Maurice: Gaza ::


© Maurice
A Letter to Israel about the Dignity
Max Ajl

With fiber communications, it's easy to stay current with tragedy
So I heard fast
euphemisms like evasive maneuvers but really
insane galleons flying flags of Blue and White on the mast
And prison spotlights target-marking.

Tell Tel-Aviv, we heard fast
6th voyage out from Larnaca
with doctors, medicines as ballast
stealing through Mediterranean velvet
Murmurs, shouts: "Free Gaza ships have broken the siege, at Last!"

Ships with true names like Freedom and Dignity
But inanimate minds mind inanimate ships, "You Can't Pass!"
They rammed the fiberglass-wood hull
Israel, I heard fast
(We all know the Dignity went no faster than 12 knots)

Bombing refugees from the bombing of refugees, they blast-
the canting ramblers and the ramblers can't
see but through their prism, prison, we lambaste
because the rest of us see, because
Across the sea, we heard fast

Quick, quiet, imagine-think of the chrysalis cocooned in Gaza
40 years waiting, now aghast
How to make peace with people we made bury their children?
Oh, yes, we heard fast

When warships from Israel attacked the Dignity.

A Gaza story
Written by WDA. - Gaza
I am seated on rubble and ashes
I don't know if Aya my doll is still in my arms
I still can hear the talks, the whispers and the crying of latest days
And the laughs of other times
I still hear the familiar call for praying, the sounds of the house ...

I hope to see my family and my friends soon
so we can run and laugh as we used to do,
each day a new world...

Now it is all rubble and ashes
and me half seated, half buried in it
My name is Samar, I was six
I lived in innocence
I died in Gaza.
old land
Jo Neace Krause

To be born in Gaza
is to feel your body
even in sleep picked at
by an ancient wind

To be spotted on your bed
like grey debris, the twisted leg of history
washed up on the beach in front of a crowd
with flashlights searching your ears
for the last dangerous words
you might have overheard.

While in your cool dreams, under the high galleons of morning
a sailor like yourself filled with risky love
of the deep, runs down on down some steps
folding on and on beneath your feet
like the fat meals laid down
in the stomachs of tourists
, carried laughing and chatting in taxi cabs,
that rise as topaz dolphins do, leading the way
through waves of opal joy.

Oh, to have your own spot on this earth!
To have it pure in character as a theme park
to have all truths fall about you
like the stopped hearts of sun sucked apricots,
dropping between the sugary lips of some wild
and haughty mouth.
Oh, to be only among your own kind,
though someone calls to you from the haunting shadows
of Jerusalem's long and bloody throat:
Hey, smiley-face the whole world suffers for you.
But bait your rat traps with what you want,
We chew our own dark crust of hope.
"Z" IS FOR ZIONIST
ronna bouche',Eugene, OR)
I feel like a good German
in 1930's Germany, "we will not be silent"
was their slogan and execution
was their punishment.

Truth is, I'm a good American
in 2009 United States. It just
feels like NAZI Germany.

No, I won't be executed for
telling the truth. But with
all "Z" cards stacked against me...
mainstream "Z" media,
propaganda "Z" news papers,
"Z" banks, "Z" Federal Reserve,
"Z"-owned politicians, presidents
and US"Z" foreign policy;

do I dare say, as a good American,
Dear "Z" FRIENDS OF ISRAEL,
Help! For G-D sake Help!
Stop "Z" WAR ON GAZA?

Help this five year old Palestinian girl,
in her baby shoes, under the flares of
chemical poisons that burn her baby skin
down to her baby bones. This little girl,
under bombs that blow buildings into
rubble up to her baby neck.
See her face. It's real. It happened.

Will "Z" remain silent? I cannot
until help comes. Come soon. Come now.
Where are you, "Z"?
It's too late to save this little dead girl
but "Z" and me can save her people.
Say it with me "Z",
"we will not be silent"
"we can save a PEOPLE"
" FREE GAZA"
"FREEDOM for the STATE of PALESTINE ".
:: Dean Omori : Song "SO MUCH FOR PRAYER" ::


SO MUCH FOR PRAYER from Dean Omori on Vimeo.


TO A BYSTANDER WHO ASKS, WHAT IS A HOLOCAUST?
Hilda Meers

It has been said, by a decent person, that decent persons
must come to the aid of a persecuted minority.
And yet - as in those times when Jews, or dissidents,
all those whose faces didn't fit, were rounded up
to die in concentration camps, we experience once more
an uncanny silence - from bystanders with averted eyes -
a silence that deafens, these days,
the awareness of the conscious mind.
What is this thing, you may well ask, called Holocaust,
or Genocide, what's named as, ethnic cleansing. What constitutes
the ugliness and grief of holocausts, not one, not two, but,
far too many? Test these ingredients, weigh them: death,
by deprivation, separation, starvation, shooting children, cold and darkness,
scorn and lies, tank attacks, sonic booms, helicopters whirring overhead,
the ingredients of despair stirred by deliberate hands -
I'd say these elements compounded, amount to genocide.
On the fingers of one hand I spell it out -
G, A, Z, A. Gaza, a walled-in crowded cage, contains
desperate Palestinians, mourning their dead children,
cradling the persistent ones who somehow still survive.
How long, how long, how much longer
shall bystanders throughout the world
immerse themselves in clinging to their little lives,
turn away their faces to pretend they do not see?
Remembering the horrors of all holocausts - all genocide,
can we?
The Land With No Children
Leena G Khan, London, dedicated to the Children of Gaza

Have you had a gun pointed at you? I came across this picture. A picture I cant seem to forget. The image I cant seem to get out of my head. The more I think about the picture. The more this question strengthens its roots in my head: What would it feel like to have a gun pointed not inches away from my face?

As I look at this picture of a 3 year old standing face to face with a Israeli soldier pointing his gun at him. The more I realize, the look on the child's face is not of fright or terror. It is a look that is far from that, there is this eerie calmness in his delicate features. He stands there alone, yet he does not seem shocked or scared. It almost as though he was expecting it. And probably in his very short life this is normal. This is what he was born into. For him this is life. His life and thousands of other such children's life. Children, who go home and perhaps, tell their parents not what they learnt at school, but how they managed to escape the scary gunman again. But then again, how many more times will they escape the scary gunman standing outside their house? Waiting.

As kids we only heard stories of a boogie man coming after us. " shhh.. now or the boogie man will come and take you away" our parents whispered, as we promised them we would behave our selves and share our toys. Sadly, for these children no-matter how nicely they behave them selves. They are surrounded by hundreds of boogie men. And no one can save them. The boogie man will eventually take them away. One by one.

We rate our films so our children are not exposed to violence. How can we let their innocent minds be corrupted like this, we say in horror and dismay. What about these children? Who is looking out for them? There is no one to protect them, assure them that everything will be all right. That its just make believe and real life is nothing like that. Is it really not - for them?

Children who grow up with so much destruction and violence can not be held responsible for growing up to be angry and ready to fight. Full of vengeance. Full of hatred.

I am against terrorism. I am against violence of all sorts. But if your whole life all you have ever witnessed is bloodshed and mass destruction. Is it possible to look away? When you grow up without a father, a mother, your siblings or you send your children to school and they never come back. Is it possible not to want revenge? Is it possible to be rational? Be normal?

What is normal? These children are not living under normal circumstances. They were not born into normal circumstances either. Nor were their parents. So how can we even expect they will turn out like you and me? When these children grow up to be suicide bombers, who is to blame? Them for not knowing right from wrong? But what right what wrong. This is all they know.

The Palestinians are only fighting for their life, their survival and their future. What are the Israeli's fighting for? 'Their' so- called 'holy land'? Land? How can they even call it a 'holy land' when it's drenched in blood.

A land, not theirs to begin with.

I am crying for that little girl who never got to wear the sunglasses her father bought for her. She cannot eat because her food smells of gas, as do her clothes and her house. I am crying for all the children who have already lost their childhood and have no choice but to be angry and hateful.

I am crying for the Children of Palestine - The children without a future.
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