America loves fast food, relationships, and battles that have the potential to kill.
And because we live in America's world, it's an American time of speed.
America's supercomputer doesn't know how to solve algorithms.
That's because the American computer refuses to perform anything other than miraculous operations.
It refuses to see the world as spots of color on paper that we call geographic maps.
It has the world reluctantly brought to the Pentagon on a table by satellites
to teach it how to be obedient in the age of globalization and the age of stellar warfare.
Confucius and Aristotle, Tagore and Ibn al-Haytham sit in an elementary school
to write an acknowledgment of illiteracy.
that the birth of America is the birth of mankind.
for Fukuyama to teach them that history has an American ending.
America wears sunglasses.
She gets black and white into her eyes and rejects the other colors in the spectrum of light radiation.
This white is the color of cold, enveloping the kingdom of injustice from pole to pole with the coldness of its Anglo-Saxon blood.
This is black, the color of its factories releasing fumes that swallow the ozone gas and wipe out the future of all the peoples of the earth, leaving no remnants.
The world has become virtual in the midst of America's virtual games.
the hero of goodness with machine gun fire
He refuses to appear in movies and instead uses video games as a battleground, granting Pentium Four speeds to his Rambo projectiles.
Rambo, Rocky, Superman, Batman, Mr. America.
An omnipotent ankylosaur with infinite hands and feet
Owner of the computer age and all digital devices
The owner of all intelligence and the monopolist of all copyrights from one day to the last day of the earth's existence.
He makes fun of ignorant people fighting honorable people in a one-on-one duel.
This nonsense doesn't give the war its tragic reality.
The American standard of honor is to attack from a distance with cluster bombs and missiles.
killing even the perpetrator and the victim with missiles called smart.
All the world's a red Indian, hogging the goodies and hindering civilization.
He doesn't realize that the blonde American is the king of the animal kingdom.
And just as the Red Indian died with hot bullets piercing a brain filled with tales of trees, stars, and living mountains.
He left a green land for exiles from across democratic Europe.
It was planted with buildings that gouged clouds that pierced the moon's eye, factories that spewed black clouds of hail and rained acid rain.
A virgin land slaughtered and its blood is black oil that fuels the killing machines and other machines of barbarism.
But not all birds are fluffy chicks that hunt with ease.
The first is killed and the second kills without batting an eyelash those who dream of trampling on his holy pride.
This one has a legacy of defeating the enemy with his traditional backward means.
He doesn't know the taste of Coca-Cola, hamburgers and all Western foods.
In love, he sings ghazal epics.
He used to carry his dead on the coffin of vengeance and cross the path of eternity.
He still measures the world by nights traveled on horseback, not by kilometers.
He is guided by a night star, not moons.
He enjoys babysitting mountains, valleys and caves, giving them human names
She laughs, she dances in his eyes, she gets angry, she is satisfied, she sulks like a child
He hears the sound of the wind, music that pleases his ears and makes him drink glasses of its original wine.
He falls in love with homelands and heralds the black banners that come before Jerusalem, fluttering on Khorasani turbans.
beating in the name of God monsters in the garb of civilization.
He rides an ozone-compassionate horse not corrupted by mad cow disease like British bulls.
And if Rath fertilizes a virgin land that doesn't know all the chemical fertilizers.
not corrupted by tractor blades and the art of genetic engineering.
And if he is sick, mountain grass is a medicine that washes away his ailment without the need for prescriptions.
Prescriptions for cortisone, paracetamol and all the cancer drugs.
No kidney or liver dialysis in the most prestigious health cities.
And if he dies, no eulogy or twenty fake bullets.
He lies in an unmarked grave with no music or honors.
Under sand deep in the desert or under basalt rocks.
Without fanfare, he passes on as a hero, receiving immortality and leaving the same offspring
to continue taking revenge with the same antique weapons.
America is born and dies, and your sword is Mahmoud, the first sultan to uproot the heads of the infidels and throw them into the forgotten dustbin of history.
In Ghazni, in Herat, in Balkh, in Kabul, your horse is still firing and counting the days to start the rounds of freedom.
O America, come closer, don't leave even a mustard seed of weapons or an American citizen in your quiver.
Do not keep an airplane, a carrier, a battleship, a missile, or a type of weapons that are crimes against humanity.
Adopt all the cunning and malicious Jews until there is no more left in your quiver.
And let all the governments of the world support the alliance of slander, spinning beasts in the American leg.
And choose the darkest night in the coldest night, fortified with armor that is against nuclear weapons.
The land of Afghanistan is an open-mouthed grave that eats the flesh of strangers and throws the bones to remain a lesson to the invaders that the land of the Qur'an is insurmountable.
The land of the Qur'an is insurmountable.
The land of the Quran is insurmountable.
  
Mohammed Makram
Dammam
6/11/2001