The Undying Rachel Corrie

Rachel Corrie (April 10, 1979 – March 16, 2003) was an American activist and member of the International Solidarity Movement (ISM).

She gained international attention for her activism in the Gaza Strip during the Second Intifada. Tragically, she was killed at the age of 23 while attempting to prevent the demolition of a Palestinian home by an Israeli bulldozer. Her death sparked controversy and raised questions about the role of international activists in conflict zones. Corrie's life and death continue to be commemorated by activists and organizations advocating for human rights and peace. This poem is in remembrance of her.

Twenty-one years and counting since in a hurry have passed
A girl of twenty-four, Olympia’s taj, was caused to be buried

Cut down in her prime in Rafah, a southern point of Gaza
Her rosy blood to mix freely, over and again, with those of all ages

Providence making sure in the Heavenly Gardens she’s not alone
She of slight of build, with a thousand-watt neon bright mind
With heart like a Mac truck, and like driven snow a soul pure
Stranger in a vicious land, making home as the heart demands

She sought to be consequential for those with lives bereft
Perhaps hoping her fair skin, citizenship to make the odds even

Alas, little did she reckon her fate would be so brutally handled
For ‘the land of the free, home of the brave’ was on a long vacation

Today the foul stench of democracies is rupturing the ozone layer
Billions are holding their nose as they go about their affairs

While forced to relinquish colonies, the colonizing mind is alive and kicking
Hypocrisy and brute force form the law, the Law is brutalized with encore

Neither money nor power graces those who would like to stand tall
But Rachel and her Gang of the Fallen would urge us to not lose hope

Time is on our side; they want a clean-cut, fast disposal, it’s for us to deny
For those who want to kick it up a notch, the bereft have a sure-shot formula
House it all in the crucible of patience and persistence, fair-play and goodness
That formula for sure is the base-line from which to rise up and be counted.

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