Image: Harey Zahav/social media
By Maria De Stefano
“As you sow so shall you reap.”
That ‘s what they say in Gaz-A-Lago, an ancient law of the land you refuse to understand. And on this land you sowed seeds of hate, and now she will hate you back.
You may concrete her over with hotels and casinos but she is not yours to own and she will let you know. She will speak to you in curses whispered in your murderous ear from which you will find no relief.
When you rise in the morning and look in the mirror, it will weep blood. And when you ask why she will reply, “These are the tears of the innocent whose lives you took.”
In the evening when you sit down to eat your soup, you will see the sunken eyes of the children you starved to death. And now they watch every mouthful that enters your lips.
Your birdsong will be the cry of hungry vultures circling for your rotten carcass. The air you breathe will choke your lungs with the smoke of the thousands of missiles and bombs you dropped on schools and hospitals, ancient generations of civilization you reduced to rubble.
When you bathe in the sea the waves will recoil from your treacherous feet. When you walk on the beach, your soles will be cut and splintered by the shards of broken bones buried in your killing fields.
Your moonlit walks will be haunted by ghosts of the tortured souls, forever searching for their homes you stole.
You will never find peace in Gaz-A-Lago, never find rest in sleep for the tossing and turning in sweat–soaked sheets possessed by the banshee cries of grieving mothers trapped inside your skull like a broken siren.
For you have burnt a hole in the very soul of this land. You have turned her Garden of Eden into earth’s portal to hell.
And an eye for an eye will be her reply.
Nothing will ever grow in Gaz-A-Lago, no trees, no pretty acacias, no palm trees to shade your concrete oven from the scorching sun.
Your crops will fail in hostile groves and furrows that will spit your seeds out of the soil unborn. Oranges will taste bitter, lemons sour, wine will turn to vinegar. Olives will wither on branch and tree.
To you this land will never cede.
You will never find peace, never will you feel at home in Gaz-A-Lago the land you stole from others. And when your day of judgement comes, redemption will be hers. All the crimes you committed, the suffering you inflicted, the hatred will return like a boomerang to the hand of the perpetrator and you will have nowhere else to run but to face the demons of your own desecration. No cyanide pill, no length of rope will ever save you from yourself.
Welcome to Gaz-A-Lago.
Your stay may be long but you will never belong.
