I stood under an olive tree and wept.
The desert winds cannot dispel my doubts:
“Allah’s people are everywhere.
Why is my land still bleeding?
They say, “Faith is what helps the truth” (5:2).
But my home is walled up.
My children’s toys in ruins.
My father’s olive grove is consumed by flames.
The cords of Allah should be as strong as steel (3:103).
Why are the palms of the Muslims cold?
My tears flow to the Holy Land.
But help is far away.
The Prophet taught us to fight for justice (2:244).
Not with the sword, but with the breast against oppression.
But my cry has traveled through the stars.
Yet no one has taken up this burning scepter.
O Allah, the fire of trial has consumed patience (21:35).
Let the hearts of the believers be melted into shields again.
Let the voices of the seventy nations be transformed into one cry:
“In the name of mercy, stop this endless wounding!”
I clutch the soil as I clutch the hope that
Waiting for the day – when the Muslims’ feet come in like a tidal wave.
To wash away the traces of the occupiers.
And let the dove of peace rest on the steeple of every mosque.
Amin, may your name be our shield.
May the star of unity shine through the dawn of Palestine.
A Palestinian child inquired from his soul, “There are so many countries and people in the Islamic world and no one can help the Palestinians?”
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