Poem: On the Massacre of Qana in (Libanon)
dreaming of pretty butterflies
Lebanese poet, Ghassan Matar, wrote this poem
(The Olives Have Not Departed) yesterday on
the massacre of Qana (my translation):

"The Monster is hiding
And Qana, the dark-skinned girl
is sleeping by her grandmother
dreaming of pretty butterflies
and toys
and flying in a field of olives
she sits under a water wheel
to lift up her hair,
and she sees lighted grapes
like tablets of gold,
and she sees her father
embedded in the rock
embracing his rifle,
and in his eyes are
flags of dignity and rage,
she gets scared, and wakes up,
she seeks protection in her
grandmother's arm,
she tries to sleep,
and before she falls asleep
the planes raid,
and the flesh sink in a sea
of flames and fire
only her shoe remains,
she kissed it,
and dipped it in her blood,
and I threw it in the face of Arab rulers.
They cut the bridges to you,
did words arrive
or did they prevent words
from crossing
I did not use to cry,
but I bowed down before your wounds
to pick up what splattered from incense
and you whispered to me:
"bullets did not make me bleed
they cross from my veins to my homeland,
what made me bleed are betrayal and debauchery"
I don't own what can bandage,
o you who are spotted on the forehead,
I own the flames of love,
will that suffice
will it make you forget your wound?
Or shall I also add the love of refugees
who refuse the humiliation of those
who loved the graves?
Extend your hand to mine
Between us are roads, valleys, and rivers
and a land of wounds and light
extend your hand
and look how the processions are
crossing toward your glory,
the wounds are the bridges,
olives have not gone,
They extended their shade over the South
and slept standing
and said to those who asked:
"This sand is my father,
I was born at his hands
and lived in it
and my father stays here
and he has not departed
and has not abandoned his kids
And I am here staying
Maybe tomorrow a child
who survived the wound of Qana
will come.
Who but me will direct him
if he asks about his father"

BLOGS:
Hanady Salman (editor at As-Safir in Beirut) sent this:
"I know you think I've gone mad. Well, you're right. We all did. We burst into laughter while looking at pictures of the dead. We burst into laughter when we're told someone was killed,we all laughed histerically when Zeinab was telling us about the doctores she saw in Tyr hospitals yesterday . She thinks all of them have gone mad. They all told her they were in the south
throughout all the wars : 78, 82, 93, 96, 98, and the smaller clashes in between , but that they'd never seen anything like this. The doctor in Tyr was smiling while pointing at a door and telling her : I keep here 200 corpses , I don't have coffins to burry them , I don't have names for them , I don't know where their relatives are , I don't know what to do because we're expecting tens of bodies today from the villages the Red Cross were able to enter after a week long siege. HE WAS SMILING. HE'S GONE MAD. We burst into laughter and we stop short when we feel it's going to turn into tears. WHAT CAN WE DO, WE'RE ALL SITTING HERE, COUNTING THE DEAD, WAITING TO BE KILLED ONCE THIS TRUTH IS OVER AT MIDNIGHT. Oh , yeah , by the way , maybe Hussein's mom isn't dead after all : we can't find her body. Isn't this funny?" [+] Link As'ad Blog