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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Cultural · #1353701
My thoughts as the pseudo "peace talks" take place in Annapolis.
Palestine,

Sometimes I forget about you, because I feel so helpless.
I try to push the thoughts of your suffering far away from me.

To not think of how my country is harming you, lying about you, killing you.

I do this to remain sane, I suppose.
Because no one here seems to care, not in America.
Execpt for Noam Chomsky, and he is, therefore, my hero.

But is it sane to neglect what needs so much attention?
Is it sane to believe that one's country is always angelic, beneficient, truth-telling?
Isn't it sane, rather, to question and find answers?
To not be afraid of the truth, no matter how ugly, so that others may live in peace?

I'm sorry, Palestine, that you are sometimes far from my mind.
But when my thoughts turn to you again, it is with a torrent of emotion.
And again, the helplessness overwhelms me.

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