and the feeble post war cry "We didn't know! We didn't know!"
rings hollow, as we scroll through
the bodies piled in ice cream fridges,
and move on from yet another post about
yet more dead children in Gaza.
No one knew, supposedly, about the camps,
and the bodies piled high and cremated day by day,
and the piles of shoes, and glasses getting higher.
No one knew, and a shocked world recoiled in 1945.
Well now we know.
We know in every glance at our Facebook feed,
every tweet, we know, we know, we
listen to the spin and the things not said on the news as we
scroll through more pictures of dead children,
and open another bottle of wine.
Our governments have blood on their hands,
From the arms shipments sent, and the
media controlled, and do they sleep at night,
as the shells and rockets fall on a people trapped
in the biggest concentration camp of all?
The old colonial rule of choosing
one side to favour, another to blame.
And meanwhile the numbers of dead rise and rise,
until the numbers blur and we
can't imagine it any more.
Behind the dead, the maimed, the blind, the orphaned, the homeless,
and 400,000 people refugees
in a concentration camp, seeking shelter where now exactly?
For shame, for shame, you civilized world,
and there is blood on all our hands now,
and every leader who has failed to act,
should hang their head in shame.
Because you did know.
Because you do know.
The blood on your hands won't wash out.