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.
Fractals of Liberation 