The Testament of the Olive

I grew and watched the slave Hebrew,

Got nothing good but a compassionate me

Grant him a soft bite, just more than a few,

I watched a chameleon, I watched a flea.

Then rose the drums of iron decree,

Where crowns were forged from children's cries

The hawk proclaimed its victory,

While smoke obscured the truthful skies.

The minarets bewailed the dawn,

Yet princes bargained through the night

Their gilded robes were neatly worn,

Their tongues were sharp, their hands were light.

The councils weighed each measured breath,

And priced the ashes by the ton

They christened silence "guarding peace,"

While mourning marched beneath the sun.

O History, with your double face,

You crown the strong, condemn the weak

Justice limps through every age,

Too tired to speak, too proud to seek.

What triumph blooms from broken

, Or flags raised high where homes have burned?

No throne is sanctified by groans,

Nor glory by a child unlearned.

Let iron walls proclaim their might,

And engines drown the mothers' plea

The sun remembers every night

That shadowed Palestinian memory.

The olive bears a patient scar,

Its roots refusing hate or fear

No empire, however armed for war

Can make the wounded disappear.

For every name erased from dust,

A thousand echoes still arise

Oppression, clothed in law or trust,

Cannot outlive the truth it denies.

When future generations stand

To weigh what power chose to do,

May justice write with steadier hand

That every life was sacred too.