I learned that poetry is planting a bomb in a garden -a masquerade. Language is not free.

Why is anger - even anger - a luxury
to me?

made normal: mornings of mourning
on a breakfast table,
olives, 
za'atar
tomatoes and cucumber
tragedy
tear gas and tea
In Jerusalem, every footstep is a grave.

Tell them credulous, clueless audiences,
will strip them of rights
without thought or prayer.

No adjectives in the wind

My permit: these wrinkles
older than your country's existence.
My smile is a sun.

we don't need your sympathy, we want your action.