Stolen Home
I miss my homeland,
The one I've never seen.
Homesick for a home forbidden to roam,
Nostalgic for a view I never knew.
Blood-red dahnouns where martyrs fell.
Centuries old green olives swell,
Handpicked when black, placed in pouches.
The white of stone natives' houses.
Hues studied by a colourblind.
Half my bones come from there
Half my lungs crave that air
Would the soil recognize me
If I finally stepped foot?
Culture passed down generations—
I'm now being told isn't mine
Like heritage was left behind
Grasped in the hand of the thief.
But this is your goal isn’t it?
These are the beliefs you hold on to.
Erase the history,
Obliviate the exiles,
Suppress any memory of their homes.
The stolen property will gradually become yours.
Soon everyone will forget our rights,
And your birthright will take over.
Tell me then,
Is a bloodline forgotten once the border line is crossed?
Does a bloodline disappear once all the blood is shed?
This inherited rage burns my fist,
With nowhere to let it go
I picture the day they sought refuge,
An olive branch severed
With a backstabber’s knife
—Roots alive,
Still buried,
They survive—
Another rootstock embraces
The weeping branch’s buds
“Welcome to your new home.”
We are of both roots now.
Who knew superposition
Would be so sorrowful?
Would the world be
So kind as to let me
See the other side of the dead sea?
Walk me beside the Jordan river
To the beach.
Let the sacred water cleanse my grief
And then with a sigh of relief,
I’d finally be home.
For Palestine, I miss you.
لفلسطين، اشتقت لك.