SAY SOMETHING

What can I do

What can I say

To make you sway

To make you stew

Enough to make a call

Advocate for morality

Champion humanity

A measure so small

If we all turn a blind eye

Looked the other way

Not a word we say

Letting the time fly

Maybe the atrocities will go away

Maybe another story will consume

Sweep our emotions like a broom

Escape from our mind in a day

There are so many atrocities

You say to me

Too many for me to see

Who am I to influence policies

Neutrality helps the oppressor

Never the victim

Silence is a symptom 

Silence assists the tormentor

Do something say something

Speak to your friend

Speak to no end

It starts by communicating

-Fadi Zanayed

November 3, 2023

6:32 am 

A TALE OF TWO PALESTINIANS

I am here

He is there

Tranquility surrounds me 

Pandemonium surrounds him

I fear nothing 

He fears bombs 

Peacefulness in my home

Helplessness in his tent

Food a plenty fills me

Hungry belly aches him

Water on my nightstand 

Water he cannot find 

Warmth under my covers

Chills through his bones

Tears in my eyes

Survival on his mind

-Fadi Zanayed 

December 6, 2023

11:36 pm

A SEED RISES

A father is anticipating
His first child rejoicing
Away looking for food
In this catastrophic mood
His son is born
In a war zone
He has not returned today
Bombs falling what can I say
The mother’s tears fall
Upon the child and us all
The child with no name
Scurrying quickly is to blame
 No diapers to change
No clothes to exchange
No food to nourish
No water to flourish
What is this child’s fate
Born on this date
No father to see
No joy no glee
Will anger spring forth
Will revenge be his growth
A father died this day
A son is born this day
A body is buried today
A martyr’s seed rises today

- Fadi Zanayed, December 9, 2023 5:46 am

I wrote this poem after I saw a video of a recently born child in Gaza.

CONSUMED

 

I am tired and exhausted

Overwhelmed

demoralized and

Fatigued

I’m on my phone constantly

Reading

Copying and

Pasting

Another truth I post

Writing

Talking and

Educating

My friends everywhere

Atrocities

Grief and

Humanity

I cry out to the world

Babies

Helpless

Endless

-Fadi Zanayed

November 2, 2023

12:19 pm

HOPE IN A CHILD

Sitting on the rubble

Lamenting my struggle

Oh my heart aches

Sounds my stomach makes

Thoughts in my mind

Relief I do not find

Destruction all around me

Dead bodies I see

Where is my son

What have they done

I shout out my pain

No venue to explain

Does anybody care

Wondering as I stare

Up to the sky I gaze

Around me a blaze

I hear a voice very near

A child cries by my ear

I remove a heavy block

Upon a child my eyes lock

I pull her up into my arms

Agony hidden by her charms

She is alive

Hope does survive

My inner spirit I revive

Indestructible in overdrive

You can kill my physicality

But never my mentality

Know my struggle and see

My spirit will make me free

Bewildered

Gaza casualties by Israeli indiscriminate bombardment in July, 2014


My heart bleeds
My eye tears
My mind cannot comprehend
My soul screams to no end
I sit In shock
My jaws lock
My head does shake
A gesture to God my arms make
I scream why
To the One up high

Fadi Zanayed
July 30,2014 6:05am
Lombard, Illinois

I Threw My Stone

By: Fadi Zanayed (written during the first Intifadah)


I dreamt I was throwing a stone
I heard it whiz through the air
I saw it striking the helicopter
I ran toward it
I wedged a pipe in its tail
I saw the Israeli soldiers shooting
I watched the bullet hit the child
I carried the child to a place of worship
I heard the soldiers coming
I entered one door than another
I came upon a meeting room
I saw the Star of David
I boldly asked for help
I was shunned away
I became more determined
I felt my adrenaline kick in
I ran out to an exit and the sun
I clutched the boy tighter
I saw familiar faces
 I looked around
I saw their happiness
I shouted " This boy needs help!!
I saw no reaction
I observed the abundance
I destroyed the picnic table
I arose from my sleep
I wrote down this poem
I threw my stone

As I Wonder

The aroma awakens the senses

As Dad cooks the foul beans

Fresh peeled and diced garlic are scattered

As a lemon is squeezed into the bowl

Parsley is used to garnish

As virgin olive oil is poured

My mouth salivates

As my mother's freshly baked bread comes out of the oven

Hot tea is boiling

As we gather around the kitchen table

My thoughts are of those wonderful mornings

As I wonder why my foul doesn’t taste the same

I long for those days in Ramallah

As I remember the camaraderie of our neighbors

I long for plucking fresh succulent figs

As I remember our farm filled with fruits

I long for the day where I can return

As I wonder if peace will fill the air

Camp David Sentiments

(This poem was written on December 4, 2011)

The scene was set in the summer of 1978

President Carter invited Middle East rivals

To Camp David for more than a debate

But Egypt and Israel were the only arrivals

I felt then as I do now

That the PLO missed an opportunity

I could not understand how

How Palestinians could than avoid scrutiny

To dramatize our plight and gain international recognition

PLO member organizations did acts

Like the Munich Olympics’ devastation

I call it as it is, these are the facts

Attending the summit I stated

Would legitimize our struggle

For this I was actually hated

I was in a political toggle

Yasir Arafat had no agenda to hatch

As Israel refused to participate with a PLO delegation

Israel will only accept PLO members if they were to attach

To attach to a Jordanian configuration

There was a call to accept UN Resolution 242

And to amend the PLO charter

In exchange for US recognition and credibility too

But Arafat’s reluctance took us backwards and farther

The outcome of Camp David was a tragedy

Begin offered autonomy after 5 years

Isolated Egypt as if it were a commodity

And thereby dividing Arab unity with shears

In 1980 I advocated for Israeli recognition

When I visited the University of Illinois campus

I was confronted with dejection

Called a traitor, ruffled and put in a fuss

Camp David was not ideal I must admit

But Palestinians did not participate

Its fate could have been refit

I wonder, as I sit here and meditate

Fadi Zanayed

December 4, 2011

8:04 am

Pre-Camp David Sentiment

(This poem was written on December 4, 2011)

As a youngster in the 1970s I wanted to know

So I listened to the news at every avenue

Sat and engrossed myself about our foe

No end was the limit of my mind’s view

I read articles about Palestine

In magazines, newspapers and books

Listened as elders would discuss after we did dine

A discussion on Palestine was bait on hooks

Elders cheered as hijackings took place

But I knew that it was wrong

Frustration was painted on their face

As their chins dropped making it long

As I reflect about my father and his generation

They lost Palestine, not one fought in the 1948 war

Not one of them reminisced about an inspiration

Not one story about a military story or something more

Recently I learned of an Iraqi Colonel’s 1948 story

His command was attacking and gaining strength

Without cause his orders came from a phony

A King ordered him to cut the rope’s length

Black gold was pouring out of the Gulf’s well

Using it to our advantage should have been a plan

The Arab Oil Embargo of 1974 they tried to sell

Long gas lines exasperated the American

During the Yon kipper War, OPEC wanted to drive a wedge

Between America and Israel

But it really did strengthen Israel’s edge

Their powerful lobby was and still is for real

So in 1978 this was the scene before Camp David

As Sadat, Carter and Begin met

Tensions were very vivid

And my hopes were set

Fadi Zanayed

December 4, 2011

5:19 am

IN HONOR OF MARTYR MUHAMMAD AL-SALAMEH

My fingers are positioned to write down my thoughts

But my thoughts ache to send them to my fingers   

Illusionary words spring forth to appease

A concept not unlike a perceived perception

For I can paint a picture of deception  

Make a rainy day look sunny

Make it seem that black is white

Mass produce a sham

To make you believe

But my heart jumps in

To present the reality

To state my case in open transparency

Truth cannot be hidden

To those willing to seek the truth

So I write about a child

Who the occupying soldiers say pointed a toy gun

Truth be told

No toy was ever exposed

A video has been produced

Not within hours but after a manipulative week

On his seventeenth birthday

He was used to intimidate

To strike fear into Palestinian hearts

A soldier will go unpunished

If I shout out terrorist soldier

My heart does not object

For the picture I painted is of the truth

No manipulation need be perceived

No illusion need be seen

The truth is the truth

Israeli soldiers are terrorists

WE ARE PALESTINE

Palestine is in us and we are Palestinians

We are the land and the land is us

We are the soil of Palestine

And the soil of Palestine runs through our veins

We are the air of Palestine

And the air of Palestine runs through our lungs

We are the mountains of Palestine

And the mountains of Palestine is in our steadfastness

We are the hills and valleys of Palestine

And the hills and valleys of Palestine are in our hearts

We are the olive trees of Palestine

And the olive trees of Palestine give us our skin color

We are the rocks and stones of Palestine

And the rocks and stones of Palestine give us courage

 

 

                                    -Fadi Zanayed

                                    March 8, 2012

                                    12:13 pm

(  © Copyright, Fadi Zanayed.  Publication or distribution of this material is allowed provided its content is not altered and the source and its author are cited.)

Crying Out From My Roots

I am an olive tree in the spring

I have come through another winter

The rainy season has made my buds spring forth

My leaves will come next as my vegetation develops

I will continue to grow in the summer

As my harvest reenergizes me in the fall

My greenery dots the landscape

My olive skin is imbedded in my people

My olive oil flows through their veins

I am the agricultural epicenter of Palestine

I am a symbol of Palestinian steadfastness

My oil brings forth health benefits

The first olive pressing makes me extra virgin

Making me a friend of a healthy heart

Those who drink my oil have longevity

My oil is known to block the generation of cancerous tissue

Cooking with my oil is better for you

Those who know zeit wa zatar have cherished me for years

My roots are deep within the soil of the Holy Land of Palestine

My years have turned into centuries

The sun, the rain and the soil are my best friends

I belong to the land

And the land belongs to me

Why would anyone want to destroy me?

I have only benefited mankind

What have I done to cause my uprooting?

I am the oil of Palestine

My branches have survived emperors, conquerors and world wars

My trunks have survived droughts, floods, invasions and war

But I cannot survive the Apartheid Israeli occupation

I cannot survive the Apartheid Israeli settlers

My branches are being slaughtered

My trunks are being massacred

The victims of genocide are committing genocide upon me

The victims of genocide are committing genocide upon my owners

My roots cry out for justice

My roots cry out for understanding

My roots cry out for steadfastness

My roots cry out for education

My roots cry out for intervention

My roots cry out for peace

                Fadi Zanayed

                March 8, 2012

                7:32 am

Fearing A Child’s Mind

A Palestinian child sits on the curb

Surrounded by no less than 4 Apartheid Israeli soldiers

Their rifles pointed at him

He is looking up at them with bewilderment

Yet courage is not far from his structure

His eyes question his detention

Yet fear is not projected

His hands are hidden

Maybe a rock is in his hand

Are the Apartheid Israeli Soldiers in fear?

In fear of a rock in his hand

Or are they afraid of what is brewing inside his mind

-Fadi Zanayed

February 27, 2012

6:29 pm - Chicago

(© Copyright, Fadi Zanayed.  Publication or distribution of this material is allowed provided its content is not altered and the source and its author are cited.)

Flocks

A storm approaches

From where I do not know

The thunder is loud

The lighting lights up the sky

                Flocks of birds

                At different altitudes

                Are flying in and

                About the storm

                                At a high altitude

                                There is a distressed flock

                                Being battered by bolts of lighting

                                Yet they continue to fly directly into the storm

At a much lower level

A determined flock fly close to the earth

Hail strikes at their wings

Yet they continue in defiance

                Above the clouds

                There is an overstocked flock

                They fly in every direction

                Unconcerned with anything around them

                                Closely in front of the storm

                                There is a healthier flock

                                A few try to fly back but are unsuccessful

                                The others do not even bother




(  © Copyright, Fadi Zanayed.  Publication or distribution of this material is allowed provided its content is not altered and the source and its author are cited.)

Could It Be Her

Could it be her?                               

Over there next to that child  

That elderly woman with the embroidered dress

It looks like the one Grandma always wore

The traditional dress which represents our hometown

The detail, the patterns, the style are distinctive to each town

Could it be her?

Look at those eyes they look like Grandma’s eyes

They are hazel brown eyes rich with color

There is happiness and sadness within those eyes

For deep within them are our memories

The Nakba, the Six-Day War, our family history

Could it be her?

Her face looks so much like Grandma’s face

There is smoothing warmth in her look

The complexion, the lines, the wrinkles, each tell a story

Like the rings of a tree they have a history

Her wedding day, my father’s birth, death of Grandpa

Could it be her?

Her hands look like Grandma’s hands

Look at her hands all aged, spotted and dark

Those are the hands of a worker in the fields

Those are the arms that comforted me

The hugs, the kisses while in those arms

Could it be her?

Her voice is much like Grandma’s voice

It’s soft and soothing yet commanding

I slept listening to her voice tell me folk tales

From her words I learned who I am

Our traditions, our culture, our existence as a people

Could it be her?

It could not be for my Grandma has long passed on

Her dress still lives in our clothing

Her eyes still give us vision

Her face still gives us hope

Her arms still gives us strength

Could it be her?

It is her within us all

We are her through our traditions

We are her through our folk tales

We are her through our weddings

We are her, we are her, we are her

           Attorney Fadi Zanayed, June, 1998


(  © Copyright, Fadi Zanayed.  Publication or distribution of this material is allowed provided its content is not altered and the source and its author are cited.)

Fly Bird Fly

Picture Credit:  https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10150253161370814&set=a.10150253142165814.321090.524025813&type=3&l=e4ffae0bcc&theater

Whistle in the night

Somber moment without light

I welcome the song of the bird

For days the only sound I’ve heard

The song of freedom chirping in the air

Ironically I am a prisoner of despair

Fly bird fly in support of those who care for you

Go and fight for what we are due

Prosper mentally in our cause

Become a leader who knows when to pause

Build conviction, honor and determination

Build democracy into a nation

Fly bird fly letting your wings stretch across the sky

Encompass within your wings all within our pie

The whole without all its sum is but a part

Be a leader who is brave and smart

Build a consensus while respecting the call

The call to honor and respect for us all

My captors have brought supper for me to eat

Stay and feast before the duty you have to meet

Whistle in the night

Then I’ll know your path is right

Remember me as I linger in jail

Rescue me before I grow old and frail

I will be with you night and day

I am your conscience in the words you say

Bless the children who throw the stone

It is in their eyes that we see what we own

Condemn the hypocrisy of those who occupy

They see not the history of why they cry

Be good, self-righteous and fair

People will listen over the air

Neither harm nor be harmed in the course you take

Rather set your mark and plant your stake

For here is the line you must draw

While respecting international law

The world will then see us within our right

Using civil disobedience not our might

Fly bird fly letting your energy soar

Free me to Palestine once more

           Fadi Zanayed


(  © Copyright, Fadi Zanayed.  Publication or distribution of this material is allowed provided its content is not altered and the source and its author are cited.)

Gaining Political Awareness

On November 21, 1967 at O’Hare Airport we landed

Onto a land filled with milk and honey that did flow

To greet us, all our relatives had banded

As little white flakes came down, my first snow

I remember the election of 1968

Death that year was howling like the moon

In April the television showed horses pulling a coffin in a crate

And then I watched as Bobby was shot in June

I wanted to know everything around

I watched the news and acquired knowledge

Seeing MLK and RFK slain did hound

Hound me to absorb compassion’s edge

In school the speech teacher took away my accent

As three beautiful smart girls inspired me

Their presence in my life meant

Meant a turning point you see

By third grade I knew what I wanted to be

A lawyer was going to be my deal

Being aware of my identity

I was beginning to feel

In sixth grade the Jewish teacher wanted me to engage

Dying a t-shirt light blue and wear a pants colored white

To sing Hava Nagela during the Spring Assembly on stage

I refused because I knew this was not right

For music I earned an F grade

Proudest grade I would receive

She knew not what she had made

In me a political activist she did conceive

As hijackings dominated the news

Political awareness came my way

As I was forming my political views

Listening to what my elders had to say

President Carter presented a human rights campaign

This gave me hope that he would correct a wrong

But with each Middle East event frustration turned into pain

And I knew that the days, weeks, months and years would be long

                                                Fadi Zanayed

                                                December 4, 2011

                                                1:35 am

(  © Copyright, Fadi Zanayed.  Publication or distribution of this material is allowed provided its content is not altered and the source and its author are cited.)