This Holy Land is now entrenched in graves as deep as time. The dust storms blow over the rubble, tired & slow trying to wash over the injustice.
On every corner, on every road that’s left within the fence line of a land that was once all ours, a tiny fragment, the boundary keeps closing in, and with every bomb and shot fired, the screams of children, the yearning of mothers, we’re suffering, we’re suffocating.
The little feet, playing with stones that once were their homes, as they walk to school, not oblivious, but naive to a world where they’ll fight a fight against loaded weapons burning the path of what it means to have basic humanity.
There is frustration and despair in the voices of our people as we live the rhetoric-we are refugees on our promised land.
How do I explain to a soul, smaller than I, that as I close my eyes each night, I remember those feelings of fear, so vividly.
The piercing sounds of humanity fraying, tither by tither, that fill the day, are now muted by the calm of the moonlight, will I live through the night? So I reach out my hand and who but takes hold-behold, my creator, the decision maker.
I want that little soul to know, a woven path He has laid out, with every obstacle, miracle, joy & triumph mapped out. It is our destiny, so let Him take the lead for whatever is written for you and me, In His wisdom, we must heed.
Time and place, are reasons for purpose. We must accept our will, as He knows All. We’re at His beck and call.
In every trial & tribulation I know He knows how much my soul can handle & in that lies comfort & peace. We can only ever be thankful, be grateful, that we are a Palestinian People.