Nahida Izzat Ghaith

 

 

 

 

When I was seven,

Jesus cried

 
 

When I was seven

I was living

In a beautiful village

North of Jerusalem

Near the heart of Palestine

 

I used to play

Where Jesus used to pray

I ran up the hills

Where he used to walk

Listening through the wind

To the echo of his talk

Oh, children of God,

Love one another

 

A man of Palestine

Gentle, kind, and giving

A true prince of peace

Ever so loving

 

Up above my head

White fluffy clouds

Slept all day

On my blue sky's lap

I used to lie down

Jumping with my soul

Up in to heaven

Weaving with the clouds

Snow white and teddy bears

I'll make up stories

Dressed up as a princess

Dancing with the fairies

Flying on the wings

Of a pure white bird

With a magical brush

That no one could see

I painted the world

With colours of the rainbow

 

I flew wiping tears away

Of every human face

Putting a big smile

Right in their place

 

I spoke every language

With no words at all

With all words of love

They answered my call

 

Every drop of water

Every grain of sand

Every green leaf

Felt God's loving hand

 

 

UNTIL

One summer day

My life was turned

Up-side down

 

My peaceful world

SUDDENLY .. ran away

Leaving me to drown

Shivering all alone

In the grave-yard of town

 

THE SIX-DAY WAR

EVER SO CRUEL

The army of Zion

Marched ready to fight

Crushing us with bombs

Proud of all their might

 

Stealing our country

Was a  God given right

Killing.. maiming.. destroying

CHOSEN, so it's all right

Bombing peaceful towns

 

All night and day

Killing young children

So, no longer to play

 

Tearing clouds apart

Scaring them away

Burning innocent lives

Chasing dreams away

 

Filled with shame and guilt

Of Hitler's holocaust

 

Followers of Christ

People of the west

Cheered .. rejoiced ..hurray

To a cheap victory

 

While Jesus was weeping

Crying out loud

The murder of his children

And the rape of his land

When I was seven

Jesus cried

Ever so hard ! !

 

 

 

 

 

Home Sweet Home 

 

As a Palestinian refugee for over 39 years, and like all Palestinians, the meaning of 'home' became a deeper, more intense concept tainted with colours of, not only, happiness, security, serenity, and joy; but also of sorrow, pain, shame and anger. The word 'home' for me is a constant reminder of loss of home, and the passionate desire to go home.

 

 

I want to go home 

 

Home is the warmth of Jerusalem summer sky

Shining over silver green olive trees

 

Home is a warm blanket

That hugged a little girl

During an air raid

 

Home is a defiant stone

In a child's hand

Aiming at a tank, a soldier

Or even an apache helicopter

 

Home is a large rustic key

Hanging on a jagged wall

 In a refugee camp

Or adorning grandma's chest

Sitting proudly next to her heart

Waiting desperately to be reused

 

 Home is a tear drop in an old man's eyes

A broken lantern in a burned cottage

A sad melody in a bird's song

 

Home is the warmth of Jerusalem summer sky

Shining over silver green olive trees

 

 

Home is a sacred word

Rooted in a glorious yesterday

It's broken, dignified branches

Patiently hanging on

Despite all horrors of today

Blooming into the sky

Of a magnificent tomorrow

 

 

 Home is the sweet scent of love

The delicious taste of passion

The magnificent colour of the joy

The tender touch of the beloved

 

 Home is the warmth of Jerusalem summer sky

Shining over silver green olive trees

 

I want to go home

 

       May 25, 2006