Hebron/ Al-Khalil/ Havron
We watch soldiers come and go
Through the bared window of our house
In the shadow of Abraham’s mosque
Desperately cultivating hope.
Our great grandfathers bought this house.
It is familiar.
The aroma of freshly-baked pitta bread
Cardamom-flavoured coffee,
Sumac, olive oil, chicken and fresh thyme.
Our ancestors bought this land
It is familiar
Arid hills and olive groves
A grape vine climbing a stone wall
Renting a house for a hundred years
Does not mean you own it
Dreaming of a house for thousands of years
Does not mean it is yours
They are different:
They wear veils, long black dresses,
A kufiyya head dress
They are aliens
They speak English most of the time
Under curfew
The children play out of sight
What would you do to claim your land?
The Torah is the deeds
A mass exodus of Palestinians
We have history on our side.
The land was given to Abraham
We believe he was a Jew
They believe he was a Muslim
The sound of shots in the background
We don’t even flinch when someone dies
We just say, ‘We belong to God and to him we shall return’
Our children never go to school.
One day a rally
a road block
a curfew
a bullet.
Every morning we count our ribs
How many fingers in our children’s hands
Do we have water today?
Do we have food?
How much land we had gained?
How much land we had lost?
Is the mosque distributing food?
Are we meeting at the synagogue?
If only we can teach them our ways
If only we can teach them our ways
Arabic, some pre-Islamic poetry perhaps
The next baby might be born whole
Let’s leave it to them
No one packs
No one goes
