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Palestinian Odyssey, Sixty Years Adrift
By
Genevieve Cora Fraser
He was my taxi driver
In
So proud of his wife and children
His home
“Everyone knows me
Write to me
From
Just my
name and
Will do”
I dare not name him
I have heard he was arrested
Jailed
Fined an exorbitant sum
Taxed beyond his income
Fares
Were a pittance
Compared to the demands
Now wants to dispose
Of his livelihood
Home
Life as a man
Of
The Palestinian Curse
Non-existence
Is
permitted by
He was my friend
In
Invited me to his home
Broke bread
Drank in Islamic
Custom
Warmth
Generosity
He was the man
Who showed me the way
Into
Alert to every danger
A guide
Through the treachery
Machine guns
Pointed at youngsters
An ancient woman and her daughters
Weeping to see grandfather
Husband and father
In the ambulance
Dying of cancer
Days to live
He was transported
To the checkpoint
Not permitted to enter
Home of the Good Samaritan
Not permitted
To be seen
To be touched
To be kissed
A final kiss
His family stood helpless
Before the machine guns
My contact
Called on her cell phone
Across the barrier
The divide
Between
Near a refugee camp
Where the poorest of the poor
Come hot and sweaty
To carry bags across
Beg for shekels
Reach out to visitors
A lifeline to their desolation
I would be permitted
To cross guided
Protected
As a non-Arab
Privileged
American
He was my taxi driver
A Palestinian
He pointed out the charred remains
Olive trees set ablaze
By Israeli un-god-like settlers
Like Moses’ burning bush
A vision of desolation
After a mighty battle
Al Nakba lived and relived
Cast off and out
Adrift in a violent sea
A world taught
To hate them
But who are the Terrorists
They are the authentic People
Of the Book
Their home
The Terra Sancta
Ancient
Uprooted
Longing to return
But who will lead them
Home?
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