For The Victims
Ode to Omar KhadrWritten by John Walker Lindh Thursday, 23 September 2010
An avuncular man whose sole name is Sam is
Inscribing his memoirs in history’s annals
His quill dips and scribbles lifts and scribbles some more
With a fist to his jaw and shibshibs on the floor
His inkwell runs dry so he rises to fill it
From a flask of fresh blood that’s corked by a bullet
He sits right back down and starts scratching the pad
To write of an innocent bright faced young lad
Top brasses spray spittle with all of their curses
“He’s worse than the worst of the worst of the worsest
He’s worse than a storm-trooping Third Reich cadet
More wicked than Eichmann more than Pinochet
He endangers our freedom if he’s left alone
He’s spent more years in prison than Big Al Capone
We must needs make haste to hoist Khadr on the gibbet
He threatens our country and all that’s within it”
He was just a wee lad in the fine town of Khost
From a high noble family that feared God the most
Always good to his father a hardworking man
True and sweet to his mum and beloved to his clan
When down from the clouds a most foul beast alighted
And out of its bowels plopped a doughboy excited
All wild-eyed and yelling then out squeezed another
‘Midst gunfire and shelling they nabbed our wee brother
When they saw his round face they shot twice out of fright
Then they plucked out his eye in display of their spite
They tied up his limbs though his mind was unconscious
Feed him to the beast...
And behold as it launches...
They flew him to Bagram which lies north of Kabul
Locked him in a cage though he scarcely could hobble
They threatened to rape our young friend in a prison
(For ‘tis don’t you know an old Yankee tradition)
They drugged our young hero with needles and potions
And sent him blindfolded past mountains and oceans
A black hole on land that they’d bagged from the Cubans
Became his new home as they hacked him to ribbons
Comes now His Dishonour’s sleek sable abaya
The ladylike robes of his silky attire
“Boy we grant you your freedom and cherish your rights
Now confess boy you know you done wrong in our sights
You hold in your heart a plumb evil religion
Your face has the same savage shade as an injun
You know you done wrong boy now speak to My Honor!
A sand-nigger’s place is a grave or a slammer!”
I end with a message to every oppressor
To each gavel-grasping bench-squatting cross-dresser
As you judge you’ll be judged and my closing remark is
A victory jig on the back of your carcass
Abu Sulayman al-Irlandi
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