Poems from Marvin X and Mohja Kahf on the Middle East

I am not an Arab, I am not a Jew
Abraham is not my father, Palestine is not my home
But I would fight any man
Who kicked me out of my house
To dwell in a tent
I would fight
To the ends of the earth
Someone who said to me
I want your house
Because my father lived here
Two thousand years ago
I want your land

Because my father lived here
Two thousand years ago.
Jets would not stop me
From returning to my home
Uncle toms would not stop me
Cluster bombs would not stop me
Bullets I would defy.
No man can take the house of another
And expect to live in peace
There is no peace for thieves
There is no peace for those who murder
For myths and ancient rituals
Wail at the wall

Settle in "Judea" and "Samaria"
But fate awaits you
You will never sleep with peace

You will never walk without listening.
I shall cross the River Jordan
With Justice in my hand
I shall return to Jerusalem
And establish my house of peace,
Thus said the Lord.
© 2000 by Marvin X (Imam Maalik El Muhajir)

After Friday Prayers

Egypt: After Friday Prayers 

After Friday Prayers
After salat
salaam-alaikum
al humdulilah
we shall meet in the streets
to shout no more pharaoh
no more presidents for life
no more American aide for guns and tear gas
no more uncle abdullah
no more
no more reactionary theology
no honor killings
suppression of women's dignity
no more
after Friday prayers
in Tunisia
Cairo
Yemen
Sudan
Jordan
Saudi Arabia
Persian Gulf
no more
after Fatihah/Ikhlas
we shall meet the guns of Pharaoh Mubarak
we shall meet the tear gas
even death even
we shall meet
and go to paradise
for freedom
we have no fear of Pharaoh's guns/tear gas
no fear no more
we are mostly young and invincible
we have the model
we shall meet in the streets
to live again
to breathe
to love
to take control of our lives
to feed our families
to fly in the sun of freedom and liberty.
--Marvin X

1/27/11

To Egypt With Love

Dedicated to my son, Abdul (Darrel P. Jackmon, RIP)

He studied at the American University in Egypt

fell in love in Egypt

some Ghanian ambassador's daughter

told him don't give no woman keys to your apartment

he never did

not even the ambassador's daughter, he told me

he loved Egypt

spoke the language

graduated UC Berkeley in Arabic and Middle Eastern Literature

said the Africans were slaves throughout the Middle East

Arabs took their passports

making them slaves

racism was pervasive

unsustainable

yet understandable

they are not the aboriginal Arabs

not the Arabs of Sabah

Queen of Sabah's land

who ruled from Canaan to Jerusalem to the Persian Gulf

Queen of Sabah

who fascinated King Solomon

My son loved Arabic, Persian

Fulbright fellowship to University of Damascus

Syrian intelligence  interrogated him daily

why was he hanging around those filthy Palestinians

Why did he swim at the American embassy 

Dad, they tried to recruit me for the C.I.A

Mormons controlled the US Embassy

wanted me to be a Mormon

Toward the end my son became a Mormon

lived with Eldridge Cleaver

himself a Mormon, for a time

said Eldridge got strange phone calls

from strange people

we know Eldridge was dr. strangelove

The Ghanaian woman came to see my son in Cali

I do not know what happened

but she went home

In the end he loved a Portuguese woman

he loved Brazil

said he wanted to live in Bahia

dance Condomble 

a man of the world

at his funeral came his friends

no black man no black woman

Asians whites

after all

he was a man of the world

what could he say to a nigguh in the ghetto

his travels to Africa, Egypt, Jerusalem, Brazil,Japan, what could he say to a ghetto nigguh

In Japan, he said they teach the women to say three things:

yes, thank you and I'm sorry

Japanese woman he got pregnant said no to his black baby

so she could go home in peace

family told her don't bring no black baby home.

Abdul loved the Middle East

loved Persian

poetry

the rhythms of the language

poets who dervish.

Egypt may fall today tomorrow

my son will be pleased

Pharaoh Mubarak is no more

the regime is history

what a story to tell my son

who walked into a train

in his midnight madness

Dr. Hare said he was like Malcolm and Martin

he was 38, they were 39

he self destructed

suicide and homicide is the same

different sides of the same coin.

Let Egypt arise for the sons and daughters who have suffered

a long suffering that has come to an end.

Mubarak a page in history

a pitiful note in the eternal song of a people.

--Marvin X

1/31/11

Two Poems for the People of Syria

Oh, Mohja
how much water can run from rivers to sea
how much blood can soak the earth
the guns of tyrants know no end
a people awakened are bigger than bullets
there is no sleep in their eyes
no more stunted backs and fear of broken limbs
even men, women and children are humble with sacrifice
the old the young play their roles
with smiles they endure torture chambers
with laughs they submit to rape and mutilations
there is no victory for oppressors
whose days are numbered
as the clock ticks as the sun rises
let the people continue til victory
surely they smell it on their hands
taste it on lips
believe it in their hearts
know it in their minds
no more backwardness no fear
let there be resistance til victory.
--Marvin X/El Muhajir

Syrian poet/professor Dr. Mohja Kahf

Oh Marvin, how much blood can soak the earth?

The angels asked, “will you create a species who will shed blood

and overrun the earth with evil?” 

And it turns out “rivers of blood” is no metaphor: 

see the stones of narrow alleys in Duma

shiny with blood hissing from humans? Dark

and dazzling, it keeps pouring and pumping

from the inexhaustible soft flesh of Syrians,

and neither regime cluster bombs from the air,

nor rebel car bombs on the ground,

ask them their names before they die. 

They are mowed down like wheat harvested by machine,

and every stalk has seven ears, and every ear a hundred grains.

They bleed like irrigation canals into the earth.

Even one little girl in Idlib with a carotid artery cut

becomes a river of blood. Who knew she could be a river 

running all the way over the ocean, to you,

draining me of my heart? And God said to the angels, 

“I know what you know not.” But right now,

the angels seem right. Cut the coyness, God;

learn the names of all the Syrians.

See what your species has done.

--Mohja Kahf