Gbosheye

 I wake up in the morning Pick up my phone Just for my eyes to see to agonized face of a mother The heart wrenching tears of a father The pain fully confused face of children As I hear pain from the call of a mother to her child There I saw her Weeping cesantly on her dismembered child body Shouting at the world, For what her fault was Was it because she's a Palestinian  Or because she helped accommodate people in need Or did people see her less of an human being Asking the world why she's being punished like this Then there's the father blankly staring Staring at the remain of his children Thinking, are they really my children If they are what's their offense How much was the hatred towards them Then there is the child Looking around for his or her family Desperately seeking for that familiar confort In the process of catching a familiar face The eyes caught a scene a child is never meant to see As a result, he start to think if he will ever see his family ...

With passion and pride, I praise Palestine, A promised land, So fine and divine. Its beauty's unmatched, From sea to sea, The land is blessed, And so are we. From ancient times, Its story's told, Of struggle and strife, But hearts of gold. Despite the odds, It stands so tall, A beacon of hope, For one and all. The land is sacred, And so are its people, A rich culture, And a story to treasure. In a land so vast, And skies so blue, A story unfolds, That's old yet new. A tale of struggle, Of loss and gain, Of hope and dreams, That still remain. Through trials and tribulations, The story goes on, With strength and courage, To carry it on. The characters change, But the plot's the same, A fight for freedom, With pride and fame. From ancient times, To the present day, The story's told, In a special way. For this is a land, Where people strive, For what is right, Where heroes rise, And stand up to fight. Where peace and justice, Are dreams so pure, Where hope s...

Sorrow pours from the rooms while I, like a ghost, enter your abandoned homes, holding my end in my hand, sleeping and waking with my ruin. It’s dispiriting to become acquainted with my own desolation, to keep step with it to this extent. They weigh on me – these abandoned houses, this desertion that fills your homes. I enter their hollowed hearts, and can barely breathe . . . Neither Arabs nor Persians nor Byzantines can feel me now. Didn’t I ever have a history? And how did I lose them along the way – poems that were the world unfurling, in a moment? And how were you lost, all of you? You took my share of loss and left abandonment behind, a planet with no ribs – you left it for me, you left it to burden me. If I said I was leaving there would still be no one here but abandonment, with its hoarse voice that’s swallowing my own.