In pursuit of my true home, the green earth I roam.
The dirt that lies beneath my feet doesn’t feel like home.
I roam, I roam for a better path, as I wander the strange and unfamiliar.
From the sorrow days and lost hope, to days of bliss and singing a prose.
Even when the rains strike the olive trees with thunder and cold,
The dawn sets in colors of tangerines and rose.
In pursuit of my true home, our goals are never lost,
The blood that spills at home is the blood that flows through my heart.
The diaspora will continue to thrive, resisting the theatrical colonial show,
Scattered like the stars in the sky with a heavenly glow,
Amid the flying metal the war machine bestows.
Through generations, from our grandfathers to our children.
Resisting, educating, pushing and pulling.
As songs and dance, tactics and maneuvers, shift and blend.
From the use of the sword, to more engaging trends.
I will reach my home in Palestine, there will never be an end.
YOU ARE READING
Palestine
PoetryHere,where the hills slope before the sunset and the chasm of time near gardens whose shades have been cast aside, we do what prisoners do we do what the jobless do, we saw HOPE. A bunch of poems about our beloved Palestine.
