If tears of sorrow
should fall from my cheeks
into the waves lapping at my feet
to cross the world buoyed by the surging seas
and arrive on the shores of Gaza,
might you permit my tears to reach the shore?
My tears would bring no “meagre supplies”,
less than a truck load,
yet still more than you permit to enter.
There would be no “celebrities”, no “selfies”.
Might their quiet arrival
mixed with the brine and foam
be sufficiently clandestine
sufficiently silent and non-accusing
to allow you to permit them their entry to another’s country?
Would you intercept my tears in the open sea
before they came within view of the rubble and smoke
and carry them back to your ports,
so pristine and safe
Might my tears join Hind’s,
mix with her blood,
silent and forgotten?
Might my tears find themselves soaking into the sands of a shallow grave
diluting the blood of paramedics
Hands tied behind their backs and open wounds in their necks.
Might my tears soothe the dried and wrinkled skin
of babies left to die in cribs
no oxygen
no warmth
no food
Might my tears clean lens of cameras
shattered and abandoned
their holders targeted by your bombs
as to bear witness to your acts is illegal
and punished by death
as evil best flourishes in darkness
and light must be extinguished
But might you permit me this one small kindness?
For my tears to reach the shore,
as an act of humanity.
To allow me to express my solidarity
for those who are caught in the lie of “we only kill terrorists”.
Where death is confirmation of that label
irrespective of age or gender
the unifying “truth” of the death you bring
Of course not.
For my tears are support for terrorism, you say,
my tears of grief and sorrow
at your actions
at the silence
the enabling
the refusal to acknowledge, let alone intervene
If you must dry up the sea to stop them
you will.
Joe Harman
June 2025
