I am finally out but not free, Ahed

In her release, the whole Palestine smiled,

Mothers and fathers, of happiness, weeped,

She was no danger, but a little child,

In her jail, bravery and steadfastness she reaped,

Ahed, the Palestinian girl, became a symbol,

With her patient mother, and the good dad,

Like a dove, she flee out, she is nimble,

Palestine felt free, and became glad,

Mohammed Arafat



My Home Is Only In Palestine

—My Home Is Only In Palestine—

I am scared,” she mourned.

The other villages are destroyed.

Farmers left from the pain they felt.

Cows, chicks, sheep and pets escaped.

Homes, tents and barns filled with bullets holes… and dust.

My love, lets leave…!

Leaving to where?” He nodded.

To a place we don’t belong to?

To a city we have no IDs for?

To a country we won’t be recognized in?

Leaving to be refugees?

Leaving to new homes to be homeless?

Leaving to be unknown?

I am not going to live in camps.

But… everyone left, she cried.

I hear no people but the gunfire.

I see soldiers with unknown languages.

I feel nothing but fear and sorrow.

I smell the death coming to us!

I am scared…!

But… fear will come if we leave, he added,

Death will attack us if we go.

Gunfire is everywhere.

Soldiers are always after us.

I can’t leave my unforgettable memories.

I won’t leave the tomb of my parents,

who taught me my home is here.

My home is not anywhere.

My home is only here.

My home is in my village.

My home is only in Palestine!

She agreed, layed beside him,

and hugged the tree with her tired arms.

He, too, did.

She then said, I love Palestine!

Mohammed Arafat


To Palestine

To my Palestine, send my salutes,

to the beaten drums and the played flutes,

to its rivers and seas that I missed,

and its golden shores that I kissed,

to Its stunning skies that were always blue,

and to the green forests that I played through.

Send my warm-hearted regards,

to its lands and the green yards,

to the very ancient olive trees,

to the preserved old keys,

to the high hills and mountains,

and the its springs and fountains,

Send my embraces and salam,

to my granny, and kiss her palm,

to my father, and his wrinkled face,

and to his farm, and his old place,

to my mom’s pure big heart,

where her love will never apart,

Mohammed Arafat