Well,
people never ask about what I love,
what I hate,
It seems that "I" have to fade
it seems that "I" is not important
because "I" is Palestinian.

I'm not allowed to work,
I'm not allowed to get proper education,
I'm not allowed to talk,
I'm not allowed to speak of liberation.

They call me a refugee,
but, dear, I am a slave.

I'm not a terrorist
I'm not blinded by religion
I'm not blinded by traditions
I'm only human
I have no liberty
because of my nationality.

You, who call our for human rights,
Am I not human?
Am I not a victim of insignificant fights?

Well,
All I know is that I'm alive,
I exist.

So keep your prejudiced selves away from me,
and let me be,
let me be free.

I am only a human
a human
I have a beating heart
I love art
I have ambitions
and dreams
stop shattering me
because of a nationality.

i wander through the forest of forsaken dreams,
under the dim light of the red stars.
And i'm shocked by what I see,
bodies,
blood,
scars.

they're gone. They're truly gone.

I hold myself together and shed my soul,
into the lake of silent spirits.
And the water reflects my face,
and I'm shocked by what i see,
hatred,
anger,
ugliness.

I don't want to be a writer.
I don't want to starve,
I don't want to go mad -but maybe I'm already there-,
I don't want to commit suicide,
I don't want to be homeless,
I don't want to be alone.
I don't want to be a writer.
What do writers gain?
Judgments, madness, aching heart and pain?
Tell me, what do they gain?
I don't want to be a writer.
I want to be nothing.
But what is life without literature?
What is life?
*Nothing

Her own desire led her astray,
a smile from him was enough to ignite the fire.
The serpent wrapped itself around her neck. She couldn't run away,
She thought they were the enemy, she found her society so dire.

"Why linger here? Why turn another page?" She though to herself.
She walked to where she first died,
and there she commited suicide.