Netanyahu: The Architect of Smoke
O Benjamin,
Since the seventh of October, you have marched—
Through flame, through silence,
Through lullabies silenced beneath dust.
Still you cry terror,
But the world sees toys buried beneath broken walls,
And mothers clawing through stone for names once whispered at night.
You say Israel wants peace—
Yet sow salt in every seedbed of it.
How can peace be born from phosphorus fire?
From drones that hover like vengeful angels
Over the cradle?
Do you not remember the ghettos of Warsaw,
Where your ancestors once prayed for the sunrise?
Now, under your command, Gaza becomes
The graveyard of the innocent—
Children with no flags, only wounds.
And you, America—
Bearer of democracy's mask,
How many genocides must you cradle in silence
Before history files its charges?
You support the hand that strikes,
Then cry self-defense with blood on your lips.
But if your throne crumbles tomorrow—
Who shall carry your sins?
What allies will bury your guilt?
O Netanyahu—
The world cannot be bent by iron alone.
The more you crush, the more rises from beneath:
The will of a people,
Stronger than bombs,
Older than empire.
You struck Iran,
Hezbollah,
Houthis—
As if the earth has no other voice but yours.
But every empire that believed itself eternal
Now lies in dust,
Its statues eaten by ivy and time.
This is not war.
This is enterprise.
A market of misery where power is currency,
And peace is the product withheld.
Yet mark these words—
Justice is patient,
But never blind.
A reckoning walks slowly,
But it always arrives.
And when it does,
The names you buried
Will rise to meet you—
In the court of conscience,
Under the sky of truth.
Copyright © Chanda Katonga | Year Posted 2025
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