There Was A Time
Caitlin Johnstone
It’s hard to believe there was a time when I didn’t know what a child’s insides look like.
That I didn’t know how limp babies’ limbs go when they are dead,
when they are missing parts of their body,
missing their head,
limbs dangling lifeless as parents hold them in front of the camera,
screaming, crying, pleading, desperate.
There was a time when I didn’t know how it feels to watch a man scream “Free Palestine” while burning alive,
until there was nothing left to scream with and he lost his voice forever,
but still by some power remained standing long after his voice was gone.
I didn’t used to know just how sadistic people can be,
how hateful they can be,
how apathetic they can be toward the suffering of human beings,
or how heroic others can be in times of great need.
I didn’t used to know. Now I do.
And now I sit here, head heavy like lead, tongue limp like a baby’s corpse,
hands feeling older than the stars,
and I don’t know what to do.
There is nothing I can say to make this okay.
There is nothing I can say to make any of this make sense.
This is the civilization we were born into.
This is what our ruling class has decided will be normal,
as the airman said before he burned.
I lift my ancient hands to my sore heart
and say a prayer to the great Whatever
in a desperate plea
for a better world.
Bhí Tráth Ann
Bhí tráth ann, is deacair é a chreidiúint, agus ní raibh a fhios agam cén chuma a bhí ar ionathar linbh.
Cé chomh sleabhctha is a bhíonn a ngéaga nuair a chailltear iad,
nó codanna dá gcolainn a bheith in easnamh,
ceann ar iarraidh,
a ngéaga ar liobarna agus tuismitheoirí á n-ardú os comhair ceamara,
ag scréachaíl, ag caoineadh, ag impí, i ndeireadh na feide.
Bhí tráth ann nuair nár thuigeas conas a mhothaíonn sé breathnú ar fhear ag béicíl
"Saortar an Phailistín" agus é á dhó ina bheatha,
nuair nach raibh gléas béicíola fágtha aige agus a ghuth caillte go deo,
ach trí chumhacht éigin a sheas an fód tar éis dá ghuth a bheith imithe le fada.
Níor thuigeas i gceart go raibh daoine áirithe gan chroí,
lán d'fhuath,
cuma sa riach leo faoi fhulaingt daoine eile,
agus daoine eile ina laochra in am an ghátair.
Ní raibh a fhios agam. Tá a fhios agam anois.
Agus anois táim im' shuí anseo, mo cheann chomh trom le cloch, mo theanga
sleabhctha ar nós corpáin linbh,
mo dhá lámh níos sine ná na réaltaí,
agus n'fheadar cad a dhéanfad.
Níl aon ní is féidir a rá a chuirfidh ar ceal é.
Níl aon ní is féidir a rá chun ciall a bhaint as seo.
Saolaíodh sa tsibhialtacht seo sinn.
Shocraigh an aicme cheannais go mbeadh sé seo normálta,
mar a dúirt an t-eitleoir sular dódh é.
Ardaímse mo sheanlámha go dtí mo chroí
agus seo ag guí mé chun Pé Rud É
ag impí air go géar
domhan níos fearr a chruthú.