Seventy Years of Wait
Year one they fled. Whose left is dead. Who fled can’t fight. Elderly and kids all run a like.
Year two. The world is with us, they all said so. It’s a matter of time before we’re home.
Year three. At least we have our own Agency. A tent over our head. Wheat, sugar and lent.. our homes are gone but we’ll farm to live.
Year four. To school we must go. We must learn and grow if we want to go home.
Year five. Our day will come. Justice will prevail. It’s our land out there. You can smell its’ air.
Year six. I swear my son, we had a house by the sea. When we get back I’ll take you to see. We’ll fish all day. We’ll rebuild the house. I know the spot, near the olive tree.
Year seven. The camp is getting bigger, life is smaller now. They talk of solution. It won’t be long now.
Year eight. Let me hear the news. Hope is always near. You kids study more. Our land will need you strong.
Year nine. Money comes and goes. But our land will stay there. I kept proof of owning my father passed to me. Your mom holds till now the front door’s key.
Year ten. Patience is a gift from God. Take it with gratitude.
Year eleven. My son, how you’ve grown. Your grandpa would be proud. You’ll rebuild our land. Once the right is retrieved.
Year twelve. Your remember the jasmine we had. The tall orange tree. If we can just go back to die in its serenity.
Year thirteen. My late husband is gone, hoping to return one day. Some have left the camp. Our son is sadder today. In God we trust today.
Year fourteen. Our son is studying his very best. If only we return to our brick, to our very own place. Is that too much to ask? In God we trust today.
Year fifteen. Days are all the same. Resolutions go nowhere. I remember how you told me. Never ever despair. In God we trust today.
Year sixteen. I wish we stayed, as others did. They are fighting now, they fight still. I miss you now, as I miss our home. I still can’t understand. Why do I live in a camp. In God we trust today.
Year seventeen. Our son wants to be an engineer. A smart boy, you always said. In God we trust today.
Year eighteen. You are right, you always were. They’ll fight very soon they say. we’ll see our land again, the sea and the trees again. In God we trust today.
Year nineteen. They lost, we’re back to loss. More fled, more died and oh. My son, my smart son, he’s back sadder than before. In God we trust today.
Year twenty. I’m old and hoping to see you. The generation to come will never forget, they have aright that was stolen in front of the whole wide world. For me and you, we’ll watch over them. I rest my head and say: In God we trust today.
Year twenty one: This land I dream of. Like heaven and even more, its our heaven that we own. My mom’s key and your dreams. They keep me a live today. I have hope, I have dreams..but no home to call my own.
Year twenty two: Today I graduate. Two years I could afford. I’m a stranger in a strange land. But one day I’ll see Palestine.
Year twenty three: Working every day. Dreaming every night. Living through the dream. I’m always willing to fight. One day I’ll see Palestine.
Year twenty four: I’m ready to start a home. To be wed to a nice girl. She comes from a camp. Like me from a camp, we share the same dream. One day we’ll see Palestine.
Year twenty five: Wars breaks here and there. The enemies grow day by day. The dream goes on, the fight grows on our heart. We have a right they stole. One day we’ll see Palestine.
Year twenty six: At least in our life time, a victory is proclaimed. I see no result for our cause. But my child is on their way. and we’ll see Palestine one day.
Year twenty seven: They sold us out. For money and fame. They sold us out, no regret or shame.
Year twenty eight: Your grandchild is here. Her name is Tahreer, we are feeding her milk with hopes and tears. We left the camp. But the camp never left our shadows. One day we’ll see Palestine.
Year twenty nine: Tahreer cries all the night. Her loliiby “ One day we’ll see Palestine”.
Year thirty: When we fled I was but two years old, now I’m a man of twenty eight. I still believe one day we’ll see Palestine.
Year thirty one: Another grandchild is here for you, they are the generation to take us back. His name is after you name my dad. His name is Jihad.
Year thirty two: I wanted to go abroad to work. They asked my how I named my kids. I told them nights of crying to sleep, made me hope they’ll be better than me. And here I stay to hope. One day we’ll see Palestine.
Year thirty three: The world seems to forget about us, as long as the Agency is here. No need to worry, talks are going below the tables, behind the curtains and who knows where else they hide. But one day we’ll see Palestine.
Year thirty four: Too much noise is too little done. We work and raise the kids to know. They are not grown from dirt and camps. They have a home over there. One day we’ll see Palestine.
Year thirty five: The grey hair grows so early now. My lovely wife brought us Mohammad, the last I think of our descendants to be born outside his land. One day we’ll see Palestine.
Year thirty six: Tahreer is in the Agency school, at least they share a hope. One day they’ll see Palestine.
Year thirty seven: They sing to the flag, to Palestine, they sing to victorious days. This generation has hope and well. One day they’ll see Palestine.
Year thirty eight: Injustice roles the earth these days. But hope will never die. Whats right is right, whats wrong is wrong. There must be an end to lies. One day we’ll free Palestine.
Year thirty nine: Oh dad, if you were here to see. How strong the camp generation is. We laid down and took the beating, but they stand high and look them in the eye. One day they’ll free Palestine.
Year forty: They call it an uprising, and if they knew, its fire under the stove. The injustice builds inside the hearts and explodes to reach the stars. One day we’ll see Palestine.
Year forty one: No matter how long our problem stands, no matter how weak our camps. One day I’m sure like I promised you dad, I’ll rebuild the home they wrecked. That day we’ll free Palestine.
Year forty two: I’m forty years old, I feel like eighty. Each year we lived is doubled. The load we carry is getting heavier with every passing day. I’ll see Palestine one day.
Year forty three: Hate grows in different ways, even brothers fight. We watch and see wars around. Our cause is just a publicity stunt, to win more hearts each side.
Year forty four: We lose both ways. Our enemies grow. My children grow by the way. They ask me about you and mum. They ask where they are coming from. One answer they know by heart. One day we’ll see Palestine.
Year forty five: My name is Tahreer, I’m studying to be a teacher at some school. I don’t know which, for we are strangers. No land to call our own. No home for us but Palestine, that’s what my heart beholds.
Year forty six: I meet in the University, people from different lands. They ask me where I’m coming from. I find that hard to stand. I’m from there and staying here and hoping to go back onevday. I’m not from them, they don’t accept me. But I have the right to be.
Year forty seven: A home made in heaven, deserves to be fought for. Palestine our dream forever, we will be back one day.
Year forty eight: No matter how long, no matter how late, we have a home and a land in there and all you’ve built will trample down. In god we trust every day.
Year forty nine: A sign will come of the fight to end all injustice done. I love my land, I love my people together we always stand.
Year fifty: I teach my students to love and share, to do into others as you want them to do. They ask me, the enemies that took our lands, how can we forgive and go. Never forgive, never forget I whisper in the lowest voice.
Year fifty one: Life will steal you as you are old and grow, I see my father slimmer. He’s week like the world is standing on his shoulder.
Year fifty two: We are a nation that lives on hope, that strives to run and go. Our only request of all the world, to give us what is rightly ours.
Year fifty three: A glimpse of fear, touches the world and all of the sudden we’re guilty. Our skin, religion and messy origin, makes our existence unhealthy.
Year fifty four: The blood inside these veins is strong, it smells those related. After fifty years my father and his brother are now re-united.
Year fifty five: They drove us a part so many years. But what must be will be. I marry my cousin this year, may be next year Palestine is near.
Year fifty six: They said we can go and visit. We can see as tourists do. I went and saw the sea crying, weeping our return. I went and saw the stones burning. I will not tourist whats robbed from me no more.
Year fifty seven: I gave birth to a child, eyes colored like the sea. He had the rage, the well, the sound of his ancestors’ tale.
Year fifty eight: My child if only I can give you all the stories told to me. What I can remember, what I forgot, your grandpa assists me. All I know that we are strangers. Strangers with an Agency.
Year fifty nine: Alas..Alas, your grandpa passed. My child no lock you have, you have not seen, you will not hear, what more can I give you to be. And you have the right to be.
Year sixty: Sixty years in a camp, on and off at times. The camp lives in us more than we’ll ever live in it. Palestine is now a legend not only a destination. Palestine is our own religion. We breed for its salvation.
Year sixty one: A nation lives in fear within our paradise. We live in hope and tears. A wall they build to shut us out, shutting them simply in.
Year sixty two: The world moves on, science and tech. We see palestine everyday. Their crimes recorded. Our rights reported. But the world is not alive.
Year sixty three: One day we’ll reach our heaven on earth. My dad I carry your promise. A house to re-build and farm to plant. My son must learn to fish.
Year sixty four: Let all the schools be one, and all the world a cage. They are locked in a wall. And my son is in an Agency school again.
Year sixty five: Our nation counts and counts. Years grow outside the bounds. One day we will be back.
Year sixty six: My son Mukhtar, draws in his school a sea, a house, a farm. He knows to where he wants to go. He swears to carry on.
Year sixty seven: No matter what the world believes. We know that we exist. We are not a dream, we’re not a tale. We’re the proof of stolen land.
Year sixty eight: The key I hold in my chest, is a legacy to be saved. No matter who else gives up. We’ll never rest the case.
Year sixty nine: For all the people they killed, for all the lad they stole, for all the homes they wrecked, Jerusalem cannot be sold.
Year Seventy: I am Mukhtar, I fear no one, I feel no any remorse. You can close your Agency, you can fight our identity, you can raise your walls to the sky, you can’t take our dignity, you can’t stop our legacy, you can’t change your history, you can’t maintain the lies no more. You are the weaker here. You are the under dog. You are a finished tyran, who can stay here no more.
