Beneath the Olive Tree

The olive trees of Palestine

I belong to the earth that birthed me,

The soil rich with memories untold,

Where ancient olive trees stand steadfast,

Their twisted limbs stories of old.

I have a mother's embrace etched in bark,

A father's strength in roots deep-sown,

Siblings in branches reaching skyward,

A family in this place I call home.

Yet I've wandered far from hallowed ground,

Tasted exile's bitter, lonely bread,

Seen swords turn brothers into predators,

And shed tears that clouds refused to shed.

In prison cells with chilly, barred windows,

I studied words like weapons to be seized,

Dismantled, reassembled into one –

The only word my wounded heart could breathe.

Home, where meadows sprawl in verdant hues,

Where moon and birds their peaceful vigil keep,

Where heaven's tears revive the thirsty earth,

And I can rest beneath the olive's sweep.

I'll break all rules to find my way again

To that beloved place of my birth,

For I belong among those ancient boughs,

My roots forever grafted to this earth.