Dream, Palestinians, and have hope…
The earth is carpeted with red, and green with hope.
The soil is old, and although old is fragrant, fresh.
Your claim is very old, and crimes are never dying; victims, in their millions, ever crying as blood rains. And you – Petals of a manifolded rose – bleed, and sweeter tears than rosewater stream from the terror at the centre of your eyes…
Watering the seeds of a meadow that greens…
To the gold of a future dawn.
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