That is where the heart is.
So I hear.
The footprints of my people
Long lost on the winds of time.
Generations of men wasted
Their beards growing out
To reach prophets
Whose beards grew long for God’s
I am God’s chosen.
The people of the world know this.
Ink and words ran in rivers
While my people defend themselves
Pull, twisted, loosened, and tightened
Still need to be stretched
I do not care about those invisible lines
As a child runs home
To his father
When his knee is scraped and bleeding
From being pushed on the ground
So do I run home
To my father
In my family we have an unspoken tradition
We pass down hands
My hands were once my grandfather’s
The same hands that he used to rebuild
A home for his wife and sons
Hands that have bled into soil
That a far-off group of men
Said no longer belonged to him
I have spent many
An afternoon daydream
On this land
And what it would be like
The seed of my people
Sprout into a nation
They say this is not a place where
That our nation will never exist
So the Hezbollah send rockets
But his has been our home for centuries
We deserve to exist
Just as they deserve to exist
This is our land
It is also their land
Politicians are full of the same hot air
As gunfire and rockets.
Those two words boil down to what?
We are the same
I wonder how long
This land can remain holy
When soaked in blood
For unrighteous reasons
Can we not simply share the land we live on?
We are blamed
Ten of us die
They are blamed
Ten of them die
Is land worth this?
Is it worth nearly a century of bloodshed?
If I were in a different place
In a tee-shirt and jeans
And sat next to a Jew
He would never know who I was
We would be unbothered
By the other
If history mattered little
And we judged a man by who he was
Not which nation he belonged to
I like to believe that
This fighting would dissipate
A man of any faith
Could live freely
I wonder if my grandfather’s house still stands
Bulldozers have ravaged everything else
I have no way of knowing
Gaza is a world away from Jerusalem
I do not care where the Jews go
Or how they get there
Why should I care how a thief meets his end
Or a murderer is punished
So long as he is punished
Those men oceans away from us
Perhaps if I took a bulldozer to their homes
They could sit and be at peace with it
I do not understand how anyone could be at peace.
My soul is a restless, homeless, fire
That will burn through the arrogance
Of any Zionist
No man’s home can be seized peacefully.
No wall that can block my anger
No bullet can fire quickly enough from my gun
No body can contain my pain
So I fight
And will fight until I stand in the rubble
Of my grandfather’s house
This solves everything.
This solves nothing.
That argument within a council of nations
Dressed to their best
Spoken in tongues of little importantce
A country stolen from its people
Swept off their land
Like dust is swept off a floor
Into a dustpan
Can it be so difficult?
It is a title to allow
A blind man deserves this much
The Palestinians are not blind
This is the foothold needed
To allow them to hoist
Their dangling bodies up from the edge of a cliff.
A long walk awaits them after this,
perhaps it will no longer be the same futile walk
Of their parents or grandparents
Perhaps at the end of this walk
There is the light that they have searched for