Atrocious crimes against humanity they commit, we watch on our tubes, weeping and sobbing, our arms unable to fulfill our mind’s wishes to end it all. The right to land, quickly turned into the right to live, what Gods are they mimicking. On all fours we will not fall, unless dead, beheaded or shred into a thousand pieces our blood we poured, we poured, the blood of our fathers, our sons, our daughters, our mothers, our people.
In black and white we douse our shoulders, our hearts and our minds, waiting for time to show them it’s ours again. From ’48 to ’67 to ’08 and all the time in between, a race against the clock we ran. We still sprint, against the spokes of time now all 3 dials replaced with 1 hand, with the background numbers doubling, tripling, quadrupling.
Palestine, where are you? A poster on my wall? A coaster on my desk? A kuffiyeh staring at my back? A necklace around my girlfriend’s neck? A woven map framed on our wall back home? Palestine, where are you, I scream, she screams we all scream where are you, show yourself! A border line I watch you disintegrate as I drive back home, I want to drive towards not away.
For all that’s wrong in the world, the injustice my people are enslaved by should not be permitted. You speak of a God who is fair and just, you speak of governments bound by rules and regulations, yet 62 years you watch in anguish as the list of martyrs grows by the hundreds, the thousands! What happened to Palestine, the land of the olive tree. Why should we be defined by being a country with the most number of martyrs? Our olive oil, our olive trees, our mlo5iyeh, our msa5an, our heritage, our land, our people, our traditions. We wear a kuffiyeh, they wear the joy of martyrdom, blood sprayed across a white linen sheet, covered with the white, green, black and red.
On March the 9th, we remember Gaza. We remember the martyrs. We remember the ongoing siege, the 1,000th day with no way in or out.
“Palestine, come back, we cry, we scream, for you, to come back, to us.”