Do you think what you know or do you see what you’re told?
Who do you see when I say Palestinian?
Do you see a person, a character, a soul?
Do you see anything at all?
I suppose you’ll paint a bleak picture, a melancholy echo
Of that article you read or that video clip you saw.
A picture, forlorn, which is painted for all
To interpret as they see, to brush over what they’re told,
A picture, forlorn, which is painted for all
With the devil’s brush, on the devil’s canvas,
And on the grim media walls.
Smile.
Now let me take this moment to introduce you to
True gems of this world, unbeknown to you,
To shed some light on their lives, tragically distorted to
you,
Let’s take a lesson from their outlook like they wish we
would do.
The slums, perhaps; but the most intelligent man I have ever
met,
Dear God, mesmerising intelligence, captivating,
A melting kindness,
Handsome, sincere and without pretence;
He can only rest in the comfort of his guests.
I smile as he yawns, succumbing to slumber,
Thanking his Lord for the sleep he’s soon under,
To me, this is Ibraheem but to many he is just a number
Which they count, a vehicle of bones and blood,
The drops which we count in lieu of what really counts,
Ibraheem is a channel of immense love.
Ah the following day,
Little Alma’s face glows as she’s awarded Star of the Day,
She skips away, disappearing into the distance, shrouded by the
sun’s glow,
Up the rocky terrain, where she comes from each dawn,
Singing in the fond memory of her father,
The mountains honoured beneath her feet.
Miles of smiles in the camp, a place which I now call home,
The epitome of hope in a time, at a place, one might argue
that hope
Has lost all its rights, where one must cope
With everything and nothing;
And that hope is nothing save another burden.
But with each breath,
With each spluttering sip of coffee,
Among the rib tickling, pumpkin seed flicking, wind up
merchants
and the grin on Ahmad’s face,
I’m surrounded by my family.
Lest I forget Dawood, a farmer, his wounds are deep;
Trialled by animosity, stripped of his dignity,
A victim of his love perhaps, forsaken by humanity,
Yet shaking in my boots is what the strength of his resolve
did to me.
He takes me to the side one day
And this is what he says to me:
“Tell them about me.
An entire population, blinded by the powers that be,
Indeed I fear for myself and for my family…”
Living, reminiscing dark days, his hand passing over
Where his olive trees used to be,
Teary eyes, Dawood smiles,
And boldly states “We refuse to be enemies.”
What do you think when I say Palestine?
Who do you see when I say Palestinian?
Amidst all your marvellous efforts,
Think of Alma and Dawood,
Remember Ibraheem,
Remember that they’re the most beautiful people
One could ever dream to meet;
Don’t forget Ahmad and the youth, the children running in
the street,
Remember the lesson, and that it’s life that they teach.
Remember.
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