Long ago
My grandfather died
Under a Turkish butcher’s knife
Years and miles later
My father died
Under a surgeon’s knife
 – A scalpel to be sure
A knife none the less –
I hate knives
I hate knives…

Long ago
Under red flags
Under a crescent moon
And at high noon
They flooded the barren desert
With my people’s blood
The desert bloomed
With many crops
Of sharp thirsty knives
I hated knives
I feared knives…
Now I carry a knife.

——— Tatul Sonentz (2009)