Sister Rubab Zaidi in a thoughtful and descriptive poem for the children of Palestine and the suffering they have endured.
Weep not, O sweet Palestine,
Your cries are not unheard,
We make to you a promise now,
In the oceans of our words.
Our hearts are aflame with anger,
Our eyes aflood with tears,
Your losses are our losses,
Your fears become our fears.
As you lie awake in tattered beds,
Rattled by the shots,
Your agonies besiege us,
And consume our dreams and thoughts.
As we cook our ample suppers,
And safely sit to dine,
Though our bodies rest in peaceful homes,
Our hearts starve in Palestine.
With each taste we feel your hunger,
With each drink we mourn your thirst,
As we pray to God to help our kin,
Your names we mention first.
When we hear of fallen children,
That you nurtured in your wombs,
We weep as if we too,
Have carried loved ones to the tombs.
We are living as we should,
Extending hearts as all should do,
In this world so bleak and loveless,
It is we who cry for you.
It is you we weep for, Palestine
Of liberty, devoid,
We weep for the land of olive groves,
Now barren and destroyed.
Though we are the children of a nation,
That helps massacre your land,
It is never the Oppressors,
To whom we lend our outstretched hands.
We crave the freedom of your land,
Free from checkpoints and abuses,
Freedom from oppressive fiends
And their money-driven ruses.
Today we are but wishful souls,
Myself a girl of seventeen,
Who actively cannot fight for you,
O most precious Falasteen.
But someday we will come to you,
Repeat this pledge upon your sands,
Lend our voice to silenced angels,
Who were throttled in your lands.
Biruh, biddam, O Palestine,
With soul and blood we cry,
For as long as life is in us
We will never let you die.