Death Set Him Free
On the Assassination of Shaykh Ahmad Yasin
(1936-2004)
By Ismail Ibrahim Nawwab
[As published in Web Tracks and Arab News]
(Written on the assassination of Shaykh Ahmad Yasin, the
political leader of Hamas. He was killed by a
missile fired upon him in Gaza, Palestine, on 22 March, 2004 by Israel from a US-supplied Apache helicopter. The entire world, with the exception of the United States,
condemned this extrajudicial execution committed with impunity by a member of the United
Nations in violation of international law. Among
those who denounced this murder as unlawful are: Kofi Annan, secretary general of the
United Nations, Javier Solana, the European Union’s top foreign and security
official, Jack Straw, the United Kingdom’s foreign secretary, and Dominique de
Villepin, the French foreign minister).
He’s not dead, not he,
He was set free from earthly misery.
The fearless paraplegic’s
temporal sojourn was cowardly ended,
Not on a death-bed, but on his
friendly wheelchair, never hid.
The world, with but one exception,
Damned his dastardly assassination.
His soul heavenwards soared like a
bird, singing,
To join the uppermost ranks of mortals
ever-lasting.
**********************
In the eyes of the arrogant and the
obtuse,
Arabs must accept heap upon heap of
abuse.
Palestinians for their rights on
bended knees must plead.
Else, their fate is on television
screens everyday to bleed.
But resisting occupation, combating
annihilation, is a sin,
As state murder of innocents is,
paradoxically, deemed a win.
Terror is in the eye of the beholder:
One man’s terrorist, is
another’s freedom-fighter.
**********************
What’s the macabre scene I see?
A demonic architect of death in glee:
Zion’s Sharon, the rogue bull,
In the world’s china shop, in cry
full,
Bringing death to the Palestinians --
but no genuflections --
With Uncle Sam’s never-ending
gifts of deadly weapons,
Perpetuating an occupation fifty years
long,
Muzzling an oppressed folk’s
freedom song,
Obsession-ridden with land-grabbing,
With a complicit, acquiescent world,
napping,
Leading mighty America by the nose,
And killing peace with a lethal dose,
Sowing rank seeds of violence and hate
all over the globe,
Yielding a bitter harvest,
unquestioned, without a probe.
This tragedy is daily played on the
stage,
Don’t you wonder at the folly of
the age?
**********************
“What about the Arabs?” you
ask.
“In total indifference we bask.
“The howling storm we blindly
ignore.
“To the cries of our brethren we
close the door.
“A code of silence we observe,
“And march headlong in reverse.
“Meek periodic protests we bleat,
“And, yes, humble pie we
dutifully eat.
“In humiliation and fear live we.
“Most have lost hope in our
destiny.
“Many cry till their eyes are
sore,
“Just as did all the impotent of
yore.
“Haven’t we to unfathomable
lows sunk,
“Reeling from defeat to defeat as
a drunk?
“But hope springs eternal among
those not blind:
“If Winter comes, can Spring be
far behind?”
**********************
He’s not dead, not he.
We’re the walking dead, not he.
Celestial life puts a sweet end to all
woes,
For God on His servants His favors
bestows.
So your heavy heart should his death
not grieve:
A better death he himself could hardly
conceive.
Not a sorrow hang on your eyelashes,
As his ending in front of you flashes.
No more, oh! no more, over him weep.
He is in God’s blessed, eternal
keep.
Await him there paradisial pleasures
he sought:
Delights never seen, never heard,
never thought.
Courtesy of and © 2003 by Ismail Ibrahim Nawwab. The author is a
former university professor and general manager at Saudi Aramco. He is co-editor of the forthcoming "The
Foundations of Islam." The latest of his publications that is germane to this article
is a paper entitled "Muslims and the West in History." |