Aisha L. Kunting
A mother—she wakes and she walks—miles and miles on rubbles of rocks,
Searching for food for her family of four, once a happy family of six before.
She knows that she travels a dangerous road. At any moment she could be taken, shot, and towed.
But the love for her family urges her still, she would tread any valley, desert, or hill.
A father—he cries in the night—hugging his child wrapped in a clean sheet of white
He will never hear her laugh on this earth again, nor see the brightness light her eyes as it did back then.
He mourns and he prays till the early hours of day, for paradise for his child taken away.
A brother—he carries his kin—injured and bleeding, body alarmingly thin.
“I’m thirsty,” he whispers. “Where are our sisters?”
Together they search, but where to even begin?
Rubbles and bones stretch what once was a street, with strangers and friends alike trapped just beneath their feet
Under destruction and debris, in the harsh cold of the night or the heat of morning light,
Their blood entwined in the earth like the roots of olive trees.
A child of five—he endures. His skin is blistering and agitated because of water-contaminated
Like burn marks on his skin, around his neck, and all over his arm.
What did this innocent child do to warrant such harm?
For months now he has known only hunger and pain,
No comfort nor relief, too young still, yet so familiar with grief.
Why do the innocents suffer while evil roams free causing harm with their hands?
Like many of the people of the Olive Tree, every day they fight to be freed.
Their homes were taken from them, lands stolen by an evil disguised as men.
Yet, their hearts beat with hope and resilience.
They stand strong and unbroken, enduring with faith and persistence.
Have you ever witnessed a nation bear with such patience despite being so shattered and confined
As much as our resilient and unyielding brothers and sisters in beloved Palestine?