From the Ashes of Misery

From the ashes of misery springs the flames of our hope
The burning embers of repression reap resilient resistance
The whimsical dance of the flame’s delight burns my eyes
And all I can see is fields and fields never ending
Of trees of olives of apricots, freedom, there is none sweeter

From cracks in walls of oppression shines the light of our dreams
The mirage holds and flickers just long enough to never be forgotten
The sharp brightness of the sun’s rising hints at something new
And my eyes fix on the sun’s gleaming rays only to see myself
Of resistance and the creativity of suffering and then the sun sets

From the sting of violence flow rivers of resistance
The repression acts as fuel and ignites a fire of love in my heart
The fire to confuse and consume all the evil you can muster
And my gaze is steady my path as sure as stone, bright as the sun
Of Satygraha and soul force to end the occupation of my mind, my body

From the vengeance of yesterday’s deaths springs tomorrow’s forgiveness
The memory of martyrs unnumbered haunts my weary heart
The pains of scars innumerable pains my tired body
And my hands bleed they are crushed under the captivating weight of mercy
Of love of enemy and many tomorrows of possibility for musalaha, for reconciliation

From the darkness of hate shines the light of understanding
The illumination of reality to expose the powers for the sham that they are
The strong steady chant of a people courageous enough to demand respect
And all I can hear on this dark road is the chant of child soldiers of peace
Of children and the right to refuse to fear that which has abandoned all creativity

From eyes tired and weary there is love that endures suffering
The eyes of one who has seen what should not be done
The eyes of a child of Bethlehem who has done what should not be seen
And the walls great shadow gives me shelter from the sun
Of weariness and the soothing monotony of oppression’s deep shadow

From concrete and clay, wood and water, comes life
The white buildings intensely reflecting the sun rays
The brown mountains picturing sporadic olive trees
And the people stare from their white buildings to the brown fields
Of olive trees and abandoned vineyards, of broken cities and isolating walls