The olives groves you uprooted
And the homes you bulldozed
They may be gone now
But the soil must still know
To whom the land belongs.
From the rubble,
From the blood,
New branches will grow.
New homes will rise.
Because doves will fly on blood specked wings
To pass on the message
That Palestine still sings:
of the children you shot
and the blood that you spilled
The young men you imprisoned
and the hope you hoped would rot.
Our children have been promised
Your so-called promised land
So don't get too comfortable
On my well-worn couch.
I'll come back to reclaim it
My couch, my country, my land.
Written in a moment of anguish. But the sentiment is completely sincere.
