They will come for us, too.
There will be no place left to stand;
Darkness over the water...
Moonless water that became our highway.
Furkan Dogan killed.
Moonless water our highway.
His small frame, a ship dismantled
In which we remain. The melancholy
Surface that clings to the night.
Thoughts that are choreography
As the raiders boarded. The ocean
That was timed to coincide before the sun
Shows its face. A time when men
Come out on deck to say prayers. This
Coincides with hours: after the propwash
Of helicopters swept the deck. The women who are
Keening in grief can already be heard.
The Mavi Marmara is not just any ship; nor is
Gaza just any destination; nor are the Israelis
Just any raiders; nor was Basho just any composer
Of haiku. Nor was the willow under which he wrote
Just any willow. It had been planted with care
By Saigyo, a master of philosophy.
Hear me, Furkan Dogan: we have not forgotten you.
Monday, July 12, 2010
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