There is this place
It’s called Palestine
It used to be pretty
And peaceful and lively
The people lived as they do
Everywhere else.

Then there came to be this place
It’s called Israel
Which is basically Palestine
But mercilessly occupied
It attacked Palestine
And took over most of its land.

So now in Palestine
Or what’s left of it
Where there used to be quaint houses
There’s just a lot of rubble
With broken and burnt doors, utensils and limbs
Jutting out from underneath.

Where there used to be bright smiles
That could light up the world
There now are tears,
burn marks and bloodied cuts
That can rend any human heart
Except those that are not human.

It is a war, not between states
Not between races, nor between fates
Nay, this is a bigger war, one of faith
At least, that is how it started
But now, it is between
human and non-human.

Tell me, please
Is it human to **** innocent people
For the sake of self, and the sake of  hate?
Is it human then also, to remain quiet
And watch such tyranny be?
It must also be human, to  point guns at 4 year olds.

And by this definition,
Humans of this world, humans that feel
Are not humans at all, because they care
And those that don’t, well
They’re humans at their prime
The most evolved of them all.

Israel, I salute you, a salute full of mock
At your utter humanity, and benevolence
Your bombs when they land
With the cheers of your people,
And your guns when they point
At 4-year old terrorists; surely they can ****.

Palestine, I stand with you, sincerely
Your children, your people, your land and your peace
Are my children, my people, my land and my peace
Their bombs when they land, make my prayers fiercer
Their guns when they shoot, make my eyes water
But know this, Palestinians, we are one.

So when they shoot you, I bleed
And when they bomb you, I ache
When they hurt you, I feel the pain
And when you cry for help, I pray
We are blood, we are one body
We are the Ummah, we will rise.

Until then we pray, we pray and we try
Dear Palestine, stay strong, stay firm…
Help shall come, in ways unimaginable
Do not weaken, and do not grieve
You will overcome them, if you are true believers
Allah has promised, and His promise he upholds.

~Moniba.

She moulded them
And shaped them
And coloured them
And placed them
Whichever way she wanted.
Words listened to her
And obliged.

She wished it could be the same with the humans in her life. But there was a reason she got on better with words.

~Moniba.

The butterfly and the bee pollinate,
the unknown flower of memory,
then fly off through the gaps,
of the spiders web into the blackness,
of the vast midnight of the mind.

Words shower down into a torrent,
that falls upon a bewildered numbness,
remaining incoherent, they flow on,
into the stream where perhaps a child,
will gather them and weave them into a melody.

Slowly the poet slides away, unnoticed,
into the mist of time and unconsciousness,
Hidden deep within the flower bed of memory.
an unknown flower not yet pollinated,
still waiting in the realm of the midnight darkness.

In the childs mind the sun shines brightly,
as she brushes the words she has taken,
from the stream of life, with the days light,
The poet breathes, renewed and alive.
so it is in the universal garden of life.

The golden leaves, ardent in their sheen and whisper
Their slender stems, crisp in their sway and grain
The long branches, graced by gold, hazed by willowy pulchritude
The trunk, straight, firm and glistening, exalting the golden
The  hidden, outreaching roots, left to imagination

Suppose the tree is life, its leaves our time
Each falling in its own momentum.
Suppose the stems are relations, and the branches emotions
Golden, brilliant, each prevailing over the other.
Suppose the trunk is purpose, and the roots your belief
The trunk firm, exalting your life; the roots hidden but obvious to the light.
The golden tree for your golden life.

~Moniba.