In Our Lifetime

Palestine will be free.

I dream of a liberated Palestine, 

The olive groves radiant 

under the sun,

the fragrant living wood, 

no longer forced witness 

to the dark of Tavor X95 assault rifles 

and the stolen blood of martyred children.

The citrus trees tended by golden hands,

the loving harvest of za’atar,

The beaches, coasts, mountains, deserts

no longer riven with the 

scream and bellow of hellfire missiles.

I see the limestone houses built, brick by white brick, 

encircled with flowers and vegetable gardens;

thyme-leaved savory, wild carrots, and families.

I see the throngs of survivors,

claiming the sanctity of Return,

mending the torture of expulsion, 

arriving home to kiss the holy ground, 

all the land stolen

by the zionist aggressor – reclaimed. 

The exiled masses returning, 

as the river of people returned

to the north of Gaza, 

defying the onslaught of annihilation, 

rehearsing the future.

The Merkava tanks will be broken, 

gathering dust, overgrown with vines 

and wildflowers.

All the walls of the colonizer will fall. 

When Palestine has been freed,

I hope to go there, 

To rebuild Gaza City, 

and Rafah, and all the wounded places –

Nablus, Ramallah, Hebron.

When justice reigns 

From the River Jordan to the Mediterranean Sea, 

I hope to see dabke and stuffed grape leaves,

and a constellation of places for people to

be still, and mourn, and pray, and heal. 

Say: God Is Greater. 

Honor the martyrs.

Grieve for all the dead, 

each soul torn from the body 

by the malevolent wind of genocide.

Fight like hell for the living, 

To hasten the collapse of 

the death-machine called ‘israel’.

Until victory.