Palestine, my name echoes through the ages,
A tale of struggle written on history’s pages.
Not heroes, but vilified in headlines, we’re cast,
Terrorists, radicals, extremists, with affinity to blast.
Yet, my story untold, I’ll share at last.
For if I don’t, who else will?
Imagine welcoming guests to your home’s embrace,
As the world turns them away, unwanted in any space,
Sharing your warmth, your food, your grace,
Then the guest turns against you
Your home he salvages, with arms, tanks, and brace.
Yet, my story remains untold.
From Nakba’s anguish in ’48 we recall,
Our forefathers, mothers, uncles, them all,
Israeli gangs expelled, a homeland’s fall.
In ’67, occupation’s grip took its hold,
A lifetime of humiliation, stories untold.
Histories hidden beneath the weight of time.
For sixteen years, imprisoned in an open-air cell,
Rumbles of waste, no pipes, no dam or well,
No clean water to drink, a life far from swell,
Calories counted, for two meal, a diet’s cruel spell,
Our pain is their amusement,
But still, our voices will rise.
Chocolates, cookies, and tea deemed a luxury,
A walled home, a warm bed, all history,
For our children, denied life’s simple pleasures,
No hospitals to run to when illness is in sight,
Imprisoned or killed, those who dare to defy.
In the shadows, our resilience prevails.
No new buildings rise, all streets covered in rubbles,
The air smells of gunpowder and dust,
Blocked by power, no electricity,
When construction is a must.
Yet, through it all, in our hearts, hope robust.
Fishing is our economy’s might,
Coast of Gaza is where we gathered for fishing night,
But we are banned from our seas.
Life or limbs you lose, if you dare to fight,
Hunted and caged, like animals, we’re in plight,
Yet, our spirits unbroken
Our voices raised high.
We continue to share our stories worldwide.
In exile we live, as more lands they occupy,
Refugees they create and, in their concentration, we die,
Yet we must resist, to the world, our truth we imply.
For ages ruled, but when we slightly resist,
Terrorists they claim,
Zionist occupation is our reality, our bane,
A promise of genocide, declared on October seven
as the world watches in disdain.
But in our hearts, resistance remains.
Now one month and thirteen days later,
As homes crumble, hospitals rotting,
Dead bodies piling up, a declaration so dire,
Mass violence continues, fueled by hatred’s fire.
As our homes turn into a graveyard,
United States support, as the world watch in silent mire,
Yet, our voices persist, echoing through time,
Don’t let the world forget,
My name is Palestine!
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