Echoes from a Forgotten Land

Poem on Palestinian grief

On this land, nothing thrives but sorrow.

It no longer matters if the world hears our cry.

We are weary of promises, of hope deferred,

Of aid that never reaches, of peace that never comes.

We are tired of ourselves in this endless siege,

And tired of counting the years of displacement,

Tired of this burden we carry on our backs,

This inheritance of loss.

From camp to camp, we bear it,

From generation to generation, and we never find home.

It no longer matters, after all this time,

If anyone remembers our names, or mourns our fallen.

Here we stand, in the rubble of our dreams,

Holding onto fragments of who we once were.

At some point, a child among us will look up,

Will gaze at the wall that divides us,

And with eyes too old for their years, will whisper:

'It no longer matters if anyone sees us as human.'