كتابة التاريخ من رماد الأجساد الصغيرة

The demolished houses.. the burned bodies of children.. the mass graves.. the buried dreams.

All are the handiwork of Israel.

What kind of state builds its history from the rubble of cities and villages?

What kind of civilization is constructed on the cries of mothers and the ashes of small bodies?

Israel talks about "peace," while its hands drip with blood.

It writes its statements in the language of tanks.

And signs its treaties with the smoke of missiles.

O you lie that was nurtured in the arms of colonialism.

How fitting it is to be called "the graveyard factory."

In every demolished stone, we hear a hymn for Palestine.

In every mass grave, a new homeland is born.

And in every buried dream, a generation rises, more stubborn than the one before it.

Israel..

A fragile project, no matter how long it lasts,

the sea will erase it, and the wind will write it anew

on the face of this East..

with the ink of justice.. not with the blood of children.

O you tragedy that wears the mask of a state,

O you lump in the throat of history,

how many houses will you bring down?

And how many children will you steal?

You have become a lexicon of blood,

and a library of violence,

and a museum of terror.

But, no matter how many walls you destroy,

Jerusalem will remain in the heart, an indestructible city.

And no matter how many fields you burn,

the ears will return stronger,

carrying on their shoulders the dawn of freedom.

Palestine, is the one that remains,

like eyes that never extinguish.

And O Palestine..

O poem written on the walls of eternity.

O face that resembles the kiss of the sky to the earth,

they will not be able to erase your features.

Every child born in you is a flag.

And every tear that falls from your eyes turns into a river overflowing with life.

The poets will write you as they write the names of lovers.

And the lovers will carry you as they carry their hearts.

Israel.. a fleeting shadow in the desert of history,

but you, O Palestine,

are a song that never dies,

sung by mothers on the balconies of waiting,

and carried by the wind from generation to generation.

From heart to heart

and from passion to passion

and from longing to longing

and from death to death!