ابنتي ، ابقي قوية

Daughters of Gaza often ask the Earth

To envelope their kin.

Soaked in the ichor of what is now

A distant memory.

One asks the rain to drown her,

For she cannot live without them.

Another asks the rocks to bludgeon her,

She would rather sleep beneath them,

Than allow herself to be touched

By the soiled hands of Zion.

Her children scream, "Help us",

In the midst of broken walls, and scattered toys.

The sound of explosives melt amongst

The raindrops that drip

Down the windows of their school bus.

They run from one epoch to another,

No memory left of the world that was.

Their Prophets share the history of the Holy and ascend to heaven.

What happens to those left to tell the tale?

Their faith is strong but,

The visions they see, the people they mourn,

Have left faith trickling down the temples,

And next to blind clerics,

The siren sound deafens the child that screams –

"Tzahal is here."

Isaiah said, "If you don’t believe you won’t be safe."

But, how can one believe when there is

Nothing left of the minarets,

That once called them to prayer.

Yet, the romantics of war

Hold hostage two foreign tongues

Who wish to collide forever in their Beloved's land.

Two children of the sand, fighting over

What belongs to neither.

By Musa Bukhari