On counting

1. 
Some lives count more than others. 
This past year, more than others, 
Has made this abundantly clear. 
Those one thousand lives, they claim, 
Count more than—and therefore justify taking— 
These forty thousand. 
Or is it one hundred thousand? 
Or two hundred thousand? 
Or more? 
It’s hard to know for sure 
When they’ve made it so hard to keep count 
By expelling from hospital corridors 
Those who counted the lives that supposedly didn’t count, 
Then blasting the hospitals themselves
Into countless pieces, 
Leaving no one and nowhere to do the counting. 
And even when the paltry official figures 
Are quoted by automaton newsreaders  
They are laced with a heavy dose of doubt, 
But while those cogs in the propaganda machine 
Are cynical for the wrong reason, 
Questioning the figures is right 
Given how slowly the count has crept up 
Despite all these days and all these nights 
In which people have been subjected  
To countless ways to die. 
Because the count is always going to fall short 
When the official figures don’t include  
Those that don’t make it through the hospital doors, 
Having been killed elsewhere 
By starvation, disease, injury, infection, heartbreak, 
Or by being bombed and trapped in rubble between floors. 
Yet, though the counter might be broken 
Not everyone has lost count— 
Not those who are surviving 
And keeping a head count of those 
That are surviving with them 
And a body count of those that haven’t, 
So they can testify to the value of their lives and 
Remind people that they were not just numbers and 
Affirm their existence to the genocide deniers of this world 
Who would prefer to forget all about them and 
Act like they never counted. 

2. 
The occupier counts in days, in months, 
And will soon even get to count a year. 
And they decide when the count started 
So they can discount the seven decades, 
Five years, four months, and twenty-one days that went before. 
And they keep count of hostages but not those they hold hostage, 
Discounting them as prisoners and administrative detainees. 
And they keep count of, and keep on recounting, 
Fictional victims—beheaded babies and raped women— 
But don’t count those they’ve beheaded and raped. 
Meanwhile, 
The occupied keep count of children snatched away 
In the dead of night and broad daylight, 
Of houses taken over and acres stolen and olive groves burned, 
Of roads they can no longer walk along 
And places of worship they can no longer pray in 
And sights they can no longer see 
And doors to which they still hold the key, 
Of the number of times they’ve been displaced 
And the number of tents and schools and makeshift shelters they’ve had to call home 
And the number of things they never imagined they would have to use as food 
And the number of lost toys and pets and books and classmates 
And the number of lost educators and healers and souls of their souls 
And the number of pieces into which their loved one was torn 
Before gathering them into a carrier bag. 


3. 
What do we count, 
The ones who bear witness from afar? 
We count the cost to the in-need people at home 
Of our government funding a colonialist endeavour far away. 
We count how many people turn out to protest 
And the downplay between real and reported figures. 
And we keep count of hypocritical leaders, faith and secular, 
And the takers of tainted political donations 
And their U-turns and hollow words and even hollower threats. 
And we keep count of the double-standard news headlines 
And all the oops-your-bias-is-showing moments on the BBC 
And the days since we last had Starbucks/McDonalds/Coke/KFC— 
As though that is any kind of sacrifice to be counted— 
And then look at the falling share prices of boycotted companies 
And are reminded of the fact 
That every single act of resistance 
Really does count. 
And we count our blessings 
And on the limitless grace of God, 
Knowing that those who perpetrate this evil 
Could at any given moment 
Cast their net wider to include any one of us 
Because they cannot be counted on  
To know when to stop. 
So we count on them to be stopped 
But not by the power-holders of this world 
Who have shown they only use it to serve their own interests, 
And we count on the liars to be shamed 
But not by the media, traditional and social, 
Who have shown they cannot be counted on for truth, 
And we count on justice to prevail 
But not from the courts of this world 
Who have shown they cannot be counted on to uphold it— 
Rather, we count on these things to come from 
The ultimate Power, Truth, and Judge. 
Just as those beautiful, resilient people 
Count on the Lord to be sufficient for their needs 
And the best disposer of their affairs—  
Hasbunallahu wani’mal wakeel— 
And count on no power being greater than His— 
La-hawla wala-quwwata illa billah— 
So too do we count on 
The One who always keeps count, 
The One who can always be counted upon, 
And the One in front of whom everyone— 
Whether they believe in Him or not 
And however much they try to deny and run— 
Will sooner or later stand 
And be called to account. 

Written for (UK) National Poetry Day 2024, the theme of which is ‘Counting’.