Little bird, little bird, Why don't you fly? Are the fences to high? Are the boundaries to big? Are you lost or hungry? Are you lonely or sick? Let me see your wings, Little bird, they are clipped.
Little bird, little bird, Don't look at the sky. Just sing in the dust. Just scratch in the sand. Just hop in holes. Just peck till you bleed. The stones are your food. And your nest is the street.
I am the child of Palistian I have my cause and I have my rights When I see my older brother Taken up into the outlaw's hands I cry out the international cry That if they shoot me to my death I'll clutch a stone in my hand And never forget the martyrs' cause
-Translated nursery rhyme, as sung by a five-year old girl from Khan Yunis, Gaza Striip
She walks in strays And goes by her own ways You can see her smiles In about miles away You could hear her laughs And you would see her demeanors But yet, she's anonymous She's nobody She's anonymous
She goes down rivers But she'll never quiver She stays low, But yet she's always high High as the mountains could go As she jumps down streams You could hear her screams Bouncing from tress and skies to our own very eyes But yet, she's anonymous She's nobady, She's anonymous
Her voice carries on Like melodies from a song So beautiful and so tempting not to listen And the look she gives is so treasen We'll find ourselves stumbling down And wakeing up, wondering how? But yet she's anonymous She's nobody She's anonymous
Soaring above Gaza City, Blue skies everywhere, everywhere. Skies with no fences, no camps. I see the prison. I land on the roof and then find My Father's tiny window. So tiny. How can anyone live with so little sky? I take him a piece of the blue. Now he can live one more day. I will be back tomorrow, I tell him.
Rising through the smoke, I streak upward. I circle the palms with their Open leaves pressed to the sky They are calling me to Come sit on them, but I do not. I ride the shifts in the wind, Higher, the lower, then higher still. At last I'm free of the fire, The smoke, the sound of the battle. Free to be with Father.