Still thinking for the title (dedicated to the land of Palestine)

Olive trees stood here first

From roots to blood of ancestors,

Older than what you claimed the land of the creator.

Older than what you claimed the land of yours.

Scrutinizing your occupancy,

75 years, the land begged for the liberty.

Till' now it won't stop you for doing this,

Is it, Land of the Free?

What makes you desire for forcing the land to be yours, when the people desired for your humanity?

Your darkness burrying children's light, dreams and taught to forget that they have the right.

Looking for ways to escape under the rubble, while looking above if there might be a chance to survive.

You see, they will remember,

When the olive seeds sprouted like a patterned fabric of resistance,

When the sky cries for how it witnessed  truths behind the missiles,

When they shake hands after they finally call for a ceasefire,

And when the land imprints your intentional, unforgiving presence

Be remembered by its remnants,

For it will testify.