The Freedom Flotilla

This is no pleasure trip, no voyage for the weak-hearted. The activists singing, holding arms, like birds in the trees, those in awe of morning’s glory, in a dolphin-crowded sea, mantle of intellect, a true heroic affair. They have a ship load of food and medicine, a holy mission to the chagrin of warmongers and their media culprits. To the shores of Gaza they sail, Where flesh is burnt like used tires, monuments of barbarism. Bewilder them till they die! At night the stars come out into this artifice of humanity, caught in the web of an unspeakable tragedy. Alas, the flotilla is interdicted, freedom is not, sailing past the deceits, the barricades, the barb wires, And the AI-guided bombs. Freedom is never negotiated on high seas, commands all the waves to safety.* Dedicated to Greta and her comrades