Conversation between the Sword and the Neck

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You are in

no fit state

to operate,

Said the sword

upon the

neck -

Because my

handle is

gripped with

benevolent

Grace,

It would be

unwise

to

object.

The neck

bristled -

like an

Olive Tree

in the breeze -

Firmly

Rooted.

Giving rise

to a Voice

of Conscience -

Defiant

and

Unmuted;

Your blade

grows dull

with hubris -

It shivers

in the sun -

Projecting

your crimes

to the world

beyond,

While we wait

for fate

to respond -

But so long

as cowardice

blinds you,

to your

inevitable fall -

You will fail

to see

that you can

never be free -

Until there is

Justice

For All.

The sword

withdrew

under heavy

flak.

Traumatised -

Irate;

How can I

lay down

my arms,

and accept

such vitriol

and hate?

Forever

embattled,

the sabre

rattled,

And aimed for

a narrow

strip -

But a

kuffiyyeh

was wrapped,

where the neck

was attached,

and the

swordsman

Lost

his grip.

You

need only

follow

your moral

compass,

To the

Desecrated

Land -

(where

Injustice,

and Sumud,

are intertwined)

To realise -

the only

barrier

to freedom

Is sat on

a fence.

So climb down,

and stick

Your neck out -

Because its

way past time…

In one voice

Our call grows louder -

From the river to the sea…

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“Conversation between the Sword and the Neck”