MUHAMMAD OMARUDDIN (DON MATTERA)

Poet’s Message


Observe, O’ Children of Israel,
       Your rejected kindred
       In Prophet Abraham,
       Can wait and yearn, no longer;
       Their desperate cries for Statehood
       Grow louder, anxious and stronger
       Than the pulse that shakes
       Their fearless commitment
       For Liberation and Humanity;
       Echoing from Jerusalem
       To the concrete Ghettoes
       Of a liberated Johannesburg City;
       Yes, from Tel Aviv
       To the plains of Timbuktu
       From the Streets and Lanes
       Of the Mosques of an invaded Gaza
       Freedom Now! ... In their life-times,
       In yours, Israel, O’ Israel!
       And in Ours – Once in Bondage
       But not fully freed ...

Palestine, a Love Song ...


These Days,
       These terrible times,
               When my heart flies slowly
               Over the bombarded gates
               Of Ancient Gaza,
               And I see images
               Of blasted children
               And, their flaccid mothers
               Clutching feeble threads of Hope,
               I sing you a Love Song
               Of Freedom, Palestine;
               A song of Love,
               Flying slowly, slowly
               Over bombarded gates
                      Of Gaza ...

I saw a Child ...


I saw a Child
       In calico,
       Sleeping stiff
       On slabs of ice;
       Wondering who it was
       That chilled the stars
       And turned the sunlight
                           Into snow ...

Yes, I saw
       A Child in calico
       Sleeping stiff
       Somewhere, in burning Gaza ...

Poem for ‘This Child’


Let ‘This Child’s’ bright eyes
Conquer the cold darkness
Shine across the tortured earth
Great pieces of crystal star
To silence the drums of war
Flesh out the bones of hunger
Heal the frightened hearts

Let the voice of bruised innocence
Roll and cleanse every defiled hill
Austere mountain and prostrate lea
The deep, bleeding gorge, pour and fill
With unfettered sounds of joy
The raging river, the writhing sea,
Remove the masks of false pretence

‘This Child’ in a world befuddled,
May sunshine and sweet parenthood,
Clear skies in the crimson East,
Warm the fireplace of your dreams,
And fill your house with love
Make gold the grain of childhood,
Brown the bread for Tomorrow’s feast
Fly on the wings of the wind
And sooth the plaintive pain
Of a world in haste to die
Bring out the living seed again
And where we stand without dignity
And we fall and cry, come ‘This Child’
And plant a New Humanity