For living in their country
For loving their homeland
They were imprisoned
And
In their homes
Was where the story began.
They were
Peacefully living
Wouldn’t harm a fly
Or kill a flower
Or take off a plant.
At home
Playing with their infants
In the backyard
They were.
A father throwing his son a ball
How hazardous that is
To men with guns
And bombs.
Gun shots
Very loud sounds
And in a second
The soldiers got inside the house.
Women were beaten
Children were scattered on the ground
The feathers kept in the vase
Were everywhere around.
A father and a mother
On that day
Said goodbye to a son
To a man
A Palestinian
They knew they were never going to see again.
On the light of a candle
And on the sound of drones
That no longer at home son
Was raised
Was born.
Freedom Fighters
That’s all what they were
Better yet
Are meant to be.
From inside the cells
From inside the solitary confinements
You can hear their voices
Their whispers
To the night
And daylight
Which to them are both alike.
They are beaten
With wooden sticks
It’s nothing
However
Compared to the iron ones.
We ,on the other side of the bars,
Are captured
Are imprisoned
Not allowed to write
To say what’s right!
To fight.
They fold our eyes
They shut our mouths
And on news the occupation’s spokesman praises
The urge to let people talk
To support freedom of speech
And To say things aloud.
Bad healthcare
No family visits.
No longer do our men have fathers
Mothers
Or children
Or wives
Everything is by force taken from them
Life is dragged out of their bodies
Memories are stolen.
And the list goes on and on
Till they die
Till their bodies are freed
And to ash they return
Then they are buried
Under the grave they were captured in
And their souls fly to
Where they truly lived
In their land
In their childhood home
As martyrs to their mothers and fathers
They return
And that’s where the story ends
And a new chapter of another fighter
Begins
🙂
A smiling face 😛 ?
Impressive words , I like the order you use in demonstrating the events !
🙂