By Abul Wahaab Al-Bayaati Translated by Abdullah Al-Udhari Ants gnaw his flesh Crows peck his flesh The Arab refugee nailed to the cross. The Arab refugee Begs and spends his nights in railway stations Crying his eyes out. And Jaffa is just a small label On a box of oranges. Stop knocking on my door There's no life left in time. And Jaffa is just an orange label It leaves the dead undisturbed. They've sold the memory of Saladin They've sold his horse and shield They've sold the grave of refugees. Who would buy an Arab refugee for a loaf of bread? My blood is running dry But you go on laughing. I am Sindbad I store my treasures in your children's hearts. Ants gnaw his flesh Crows peck his flesh The Arab refugee begging at your door.
“The West won the world not by the superiority of its ideas or values or religion (to which few members of other civilizations were converted) but rather by its superiority in applying organized violence. Westerners often forget this fact; non-Westerners never do.” —Samuel P. Huntington, The Clash of Civilisation and the Remaking of the World Order, 1996, p. 51