Tuesday, June 28, 2011


When they cut the electricity, the
doctor came to us. It’s time for you to
leave. He should have taken his own advice.
That’s him hanging there, a message for all
of us to see, standing here, across an
imaginary line, watching our homes
from this hilltop. I can see my own house,
there next to the tank and the APCs,
a barracks now, where an officer stands,
his field glasses gloating, fixed on me.

From my side of the line, I can thumb my
nose at the world, turn somersaults in the
sand, observe the soldiers begin to pull
out, the tanks plough down olive groves, the first
tongues of flame at the windows of my home.
It’s a curious kind of freedom. The
officer perched on the last APC,
gives a triumphant, derisive wave which
leaves me wondering. Which one of us is
really free, and which one chokes like a slave?

The quacks have spoken. An operation would kill me, so I just have to see this out. No time scale possible, but I don't think it will be long. Quite calm. Comfortable. Surrounded by a barricade of family, comrades and dear friends. I will squeeze every last drop while I can.

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