Ya amar,
Whose name I'd never mention here.
You erased the borders on my palms
And planted olive trees in my heart
Your eyes which glimmer with pride over your roots,
But tore mine in pieces.
This hazel gaze never belonged to me,
It lingers at the soft smile of Justine...
Who you may call a friend, but by G-d, she's way more to you than you'd admit
Raised in Jerusalem, hayati
Ibn Al quds, that's what I call thee.
Palestinian blood and zionist pride, and all in between
Sharper, than the dagger stained with my blood..