Suhail - Jerusalem

From the root of life until the pen from exile

1948-2008

Almost at the pedestal of life.
I looked back,
I closed my eyes and woke up,
sixty years had passed.

At that turbulent 1948, I was obliged to abandon my land,
my city…my home at Old Jerusalem.
Sixty years had passed from my exile and my people’s.

I raised my eyes at dawn 2008
and nothing had changed. Clouds were similar.
We still were at the exile…
Sixty years had passed.

What had been from my land…
from my frustrated childhood.
What had been from life far from my people
and from the stones of my stoned house.

Who and in the name of who,
knocked at the door and staved with our hopes…
with our ancient history…
with our rich prophets and great wise men’s heir.

Who and in the name of who,
has uprooted the fig trees and olive trees sowed
by my great-great-grandfathers…
has flattened the land cultivated by my grand-parents…
and has taken the oils my father has harvested.

I raised my voice and broke my throat…
deaf ears and indifferent sights, were similar.
Sixty years had passed, we still were at the exile…
and our land…our land calcinated in death and pain.

I girded my fists and pressed my hands,
memories shook my head,
and blood strongly gushed out of my veins…
I closed my eyelids to control my tears
and I hold my heart lighted with the fire of my hope,
I dreamt again.

What else.
Sixty years had passed without my land Palestine,
without my beloved Jerusalem…without my home and my people.

What else.
My children and the children of them and their children
will have to wait patiently to sow fig and olive trees,
remove the flattened soil,
and enjoy olives under the warm sun of resurrection.

Suhail Hani Daher Akel / 2008

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