I'm bringing this old thread back to share a poem that might be turned into a song (it suggests it itself!)

The source is a poet in the midst of the Hamas/Israel conflict right now, A Poet In Times of War. It clearly could be a recitation also. Poet Aurora Levins Morales has a patreon account that supports some of her work. As happens with poetry, it applies to Ukraine, to Yemen, to so many places.

The beginning of her essay before the poem reads:

For a few minutes, on October 7, when all I knew was that Palestinians had broken through and flown over the wall around Gaza, I felt hopeful. I imagined an uprising focused on taking over the points of control that dominate Palestinian life, retaking public spaces, creating visibility for a suffering hidden from or ignored by much of the world. I imagined something large numbers of people could get behind, that might shift the balance toward justice.

Then the news began to pour out, of thousands of rockets, indiscriminate slaughter, kidnapping, horrific cruelties I don't need to name here. An opportunity not only wasted, crushed, but intentionally used to create pain, fully knowing what the reaction must be.

And then the calls for vengeance, the rain of fire falling on the heads of Palestinian civilians, Israel's rulers weaponizing grief, fear, rage to carry out a program of extermination it had been salivating to implement long before Hammas' atrocities gave them a rationale.

My poet brain stuttered. . . .

Summons

Last night I dreamed
ten thousand grandmothers
from the twelve hundred corners of the earth
walked out into the gap
one breath deep
between the bullet and the flesh
between the bomb and the family.

They told me we cannot wait for governments.
There are no peacekeepers boarding planes.
There are no leaders who dare to say
every life is precious, so it will have to be us.

They said we will cup our hands around each heart.
We will sing the earth’s song, the song of water,
a song so beautiful that vengeance will turn to weeping,
the mourners will embrace, and grief replace
every impulse toward harm.

Ten thousand is not enough, they said,
so, we have sent this dream, like a flock of doves
into the sleep of the world. Wake up. Put on your shoes.

You who are reading this, I am bringing bandages
and a bag of scented guavas from my trees. I think
I remember the tune. Meet me at the corner.
Let’s go.