When they ask what radicalised me,
Tell them humanity never found its way and its still lost escaping the blame and pointless political charades
When they ask what radicalised me,
When they blamed the bullet for firing, the kid being in the line of fire and the bullet not getting out of his way,
Never the soldier who boasted about his prey and never the men who proudly claim “a few thousand children of the darkness dead was just…okay”,
When they ask what radicalised me,
Tell them the soul of my soul echoes with pain, the screams of Gazans declaring they are the only honour left for this nation to claim,
When they ask what radicalised me,
Tell them my brothers and I grow with our branches tall under a foreign sun while our roots yearn for the land that birthed, that cries over these brave daughters and sons,
When they ask what radicalised me,
Tell them my ancestors told me tales of a home they are still craving to go back and see,
The same home, Jonathan from Brooklyn, claims has a right to more than me?!
When they ask what radicalised me,
Tell them this blood flows through the fig branches and olive tree
Tell them we won’t pay for the sins they hide in their history,
Tell them dagger stabs I would embrace than let a scoundrel order me,
Tell them this only ends with my Palestine being free,
All the way from the Jordan River to the Mediterranean sea.
Am I radical for inheriting the scars from 75 years of torture & pain?
Am I radical for not being complacent to injustice and tame?
Am I radical when the world points to the victim and shifts the blame?
Am I radical when parents bury their children and the children bury their childhood amongst the ruins & flames?
Am I a radical? Am I?