I hear the music of Palestine.

A poem.

In grief, in disbelief, in solidarity.

---

- Frida Kahlo, Viva La Vida, (1954).

I hear the music of Palestine

(Still the People Rise)

I.

I look out at the world
far across the sea, 
people engulfed in flames,
in all this man-made tyranny.

The bombs keep dropping,
Can’t you hear their screams?
I see the colours everywhere,
Black, red, white and green. 

I watch the horror unfold 
through headlines and my screen 
I carry grocery bags and unearned privilege, 
paid for by politics, unclean. 


II.

Tears freeze.
Numbness is easier 
than holding these gallons of grief.

Anger swells. 
The land cracks under division,
the sea poisoned by fear 
and false belief. 

But we tell the people,
burning - 
to turn the other cheek.


III.

A city 
becomes 
a mass 
grave.

Borderlines 
are
dripping 
in blood.

These wounds 
will not 
heal
for centuries.


IV.

Still, the people rise. 

Still, the people rise. 
With prayers and keffiyehs,
as the poets sing and write.

Still, the people rise. 
I hear their freedom songs,
woven with sorrow, stitched with light.

Still, the people rise. 
I hear the drums of hope,
I hear the music of Palestine. 


V.

From the river to the sea,
may Palestine
be free. 

Art: When Family Is The Only Shelter. By Palestinian artist Malak Mattar.