For Taha

Recent events have forced one particular travel memory to the forefront of my thoughts. I see his doomed eyes glaring at me, haunting me.

He was someone that no one should have to see, yet everyone should have to see him. Everyone who said to heck with a cease fire in the Middle East; Israel has to defend itself. Everyone who blindly supports our war on Iraq. Everyone who thinks they know the meaning of sacrifice.

Everyone who isn’t aware there are some things worse than death.

It was my second trip to the Middle East in less than five months. I went to Jordan Hospital to visit wounded Palestinians; victims in the latest round of Israeli attacks. The lucky ones had made it to Amman for more advanced treatment. The young men in the first floor room were recovering.

All were cheered by a visit from a foreigner and a few were even able to talk and joke a little. One of them, upon learning I was American, feigned shock and attempted to hide an 8X10 of Saddam Hussein on the wall. It was one of several photos of the since ousted Iraqi President. I discovered why he was so popular among the injured: he was paying for their medical treatment. I attempted to visit the Palestinian ward again after the fall of Baghdad in 2003, but everyone was gone. They had been sent packing, no matter what their condition. Just one of the little-known consequences of regime change.

After chatting with the patients several more minutes, they suggested I go see Taha Abu Snineneh. I felt a wave of dread and my hands were suddenly cold. I had heard about Taha, the mortally wounded man that was alive only because of the myriad machines he was hooked to. I stalled for awhile, then acquiesced. It was the least I could do for him, pay him a visit.
I am not a poet, but composed the following almost immediately after leaving Taha’s room. It was the only way I could process the trauma.

Breathe In
Barely hearing my own footsteps in the silent hall
Breathe Out
Barely smelling ruined flesh in the sterile pall
Breathe In
Barely seeing doctors pass in their endless rush
Breathe Out
Barely feeling my own body in this deathly hush
Breathe In
Just a few more steps my God, it seems so long
Breathe Out
Just a few more minutes pray God will keep me strong
Breathe In
You musn't see the tears of pity or anger in my eyes
Breathe Out
Though only the machines now express your silent cries
Breathe In
Your broken, crumpled body lies still as I draw near
Breathe Out
Just your eyes move slowly to see who has come here
Breathe In
Struggling to form a word the only sound is silence
Breathe Out
You bravely fought for life and land but only met with violence
Breathe In
And only man's machines and tubes now fill your lungs with air
Breathe Out
Powerless to offer comfort all I do is stare
Breathe In
I do not speak your language and I put you in this cell
Breathe Out
Bought the missles and the fire that made this living hell
Breathe In
I wonder if you hate me seeing torment in your eyes
Breathe Out
I wonder if you know I too am paralyzed
Breathe In
You know I am American but I am not to blame
Breathe Out
I tell you with my quiet eyes that we are just the same
Breathe In
And so I bend and gently kiss your pale and lifeless hand
Breathe Out
Then turn and curse the cowards who stole much more than your land.

Taha Abu Snineneh died three days later.