By the heart of a homeland unheard, yet unbroken
I am the voice that echoes still,
From hills of Hebron, Gaza’s will,
From olive trees and jasmine bloom,
To refugee camps soaked in gloom.
I am the soil beneath your feet,
So rich, so red, yet incomplete.
Each grain a story, each breath a prayer,
Of a people shackled, yet still there.
You see my land on fractured maps,
Divided, fenced with foreign traps.
They draw the lines, erase my name,
Yet I remain, despite the shame.
They call me conflict, call me war,
A headline scroll they can ignore.
But I am not just smoke and cries,
I am the truth behind the lies.
I am the voice of a stolen dawn,
Of homes demolished, dreams withdrawn.
I watched the tanks roll through the streets,
While children died beneath white sheets.
They build their walls, they raise their guns,
They claim this land, they claim our sons.
They say it’s right, they say it’s law,
But what is right in all they saw?
My ancient stones, my holy sky,
Bear witness to each mother’s cry.
And though they silence every plea,
The winds still carry truth from me.
I sang with prophets, danced with saints,
Painted hope in refugee paints.
My mountains echo adhan calls,
Even as bombs collapse my walls.
Oh world, you watched and turned your face,
Erased my name, denied my place.
Yet justice sleeps in broken courts,
While power plays its deadly sports.
To you I say: I still exist,
Not just in tombstones, not in mist.
But in the hearts that still resist,
In clenched young fists that still persist.
For every child with stone in hand,
I am the cry to take a stand.
For every keffiyeh in the street,
I am the pulse beneath their feet.
And to the land across the sea,
That claims to be the brave and free—
America, where do you stand?
When you fund the theft of land?
Your dollars buy my people’s pain,
Your silence falls like acid rain.
The world knows now, the veil is torn,
No child should die for being born.
The dream of freedom you once sold,
Now trades in weapons, silence cold.
But voices rise from coast to coast,
From every heart that seeks to host—
The truth, the light, the righteous cause,
Beyond the bias, beyond applause.
For justice cannot wear disguise,
And truth must rise when empire lies.
So hear me now, O world so wide,
I am the voice they push aside.
But still I speak through every tear,
Through every wound, through every fear.
I am not myth, not just a name,
I am the fire beneath the flame.
I am the checkpoint’s silent breath,
The poet’s pen, defying death.
I am the teacher, brave and wise,
The girl who dreams with tear-streaked eyes.
The farmer planting seeds of peace,
The prisoner longing for release.
Hear me now, and know the truth—
This is not war, this is abuse.
This is not peace, it’s occupation,
A theft dressed up as liberation.
Yet still I live, and still I rise,
With ancient sun and wounded skies.
And though the world may close its ears,
My voice will echo through the years.
Because the soul of Palestine
Is not for sale, not yours or mine.
It is a truth the stars defend—
A voice no bullet can amend.
So hear me—
Not as a plea, but as a right.
Not as a victim, but as light.
Not just in sorrow, but in might.
The voice of Palestine…
Still shining bright.
Hear the voice. Know the truth.
