Fear and the Arab

An impromptu verse by Hani Bathish

We are all afraid
though we rarely dare
to be fair
say so out loud
we are way too proud.

We are afraid of not making enough
of not having the right stuff
of belonging to the wrong group
the wrong sect, political chorus, or tyre burning troupe
of being grabbed off a street corner
thrown in that place they call 'behind the sun'
from what I hear, its no fun.

We are afraid of driving and not making it home
hit by a drunk with an empty dome
we are afraid of fumes, of high tension, and thick plumes
of the food we eat, the fruit we pick
of sticking our naked prick
of cancer causing everything.

We are afraid, most of all, of what we can't see
like the furniture when the power goes
or the future of our kids, will they be free?
or will they still be arguing over who's country this is
or will politics and posturing loose their fizz

We are afraid of revolution
of change and evolution
of standing still
of moving ahead
of sleeping in our bed
of the thought of crumbling concrete
of being buried alive, dragged out from our feet
of loosing our jobs
of opening our gobs
of saying what we feel
what we want the world to hear
that we are afraid.

There, I said it, my bed is made
here I stay in my living grave
stick a headstone on top
a lonely lily and bed of grass to crop
life is too precious to live
too hard to leave
too proud to change
too scared to try.