The Farmer
The Farmer’s hand cradles the body
It takes a moment to move his fingers apart as lines of golden sap seep through the webs of his hands
He says a prayer as he pats the soil like a mother bidding goodnight to her martyr’s coffin
His straw hat cannot stay on his head; sweat builds on his scalp making the reeds swim down to his shoulders
Her soil has been laid flat with fatigue, blundered by the Farmer’s exhaustion
With dancing fingers, the olive is; plucked
With gentle fragility the Farmer plucks the delicate tender skin of the olive
gently splitting it open so as not to offend the delicate oil inside
The Farmer tastes the sweetness of his labour
of his city
Gaza’s bitter cries beseeched in agony remain laced between drips of oil
His hand once more meets the earth, nourishing her with his soft calmness
A farmer’s pride is his crop, how proud he is of his agricultural graveyard
“It’s not your fault,” he whispers
shrapnel and white phosphorus, poison his other plants
But not the Zaytoun tree, strong and steady like Gaza herself;
The blood of her martyrs binds both in memories of mourning
as the farmer’s olive tree sustains the underground fountain of souls
He looks away for a moment
a humming bullet comes to greet him
The farmer notices the bullet, but his body remains still.
He looks back down at the olive tree as a smile pulls on his ghastly cheeks
The bullet consumes his skull, yet his eyes are fixed
as his straw hat, wet and heavy, falls on the olive tree’s hands
Alas, the farmer’s skin meets the soil once more
This time, compressing it with sorrowful finality
His sugared blood warms the dirt
In Palestine, he shall eternally remain.
with Gaza’s martyrs under the earth.
The Olive Tree
A devoted hand rocks the body,
Innocent leaves weaved together by trusting sap
The earth, naked and open, is territory for the olive tree
The hands of God materialize in its soil as holy words trickle into mother earth
God’s hands are wet while The Olive Tree’s soil is dry
A rhythm builds in the soil,
God’s comforting touch makes the most fatal of trees bloom
The Olive Tree is safe as long as God watches over her, she spreads her roots in the flat soil, smiling
The olive tree reveals her precocious olive, with a careful arrow the olive is plucked
The Olive tree, strengthened by the martyrdom of her people
Her vines stretch out, screaming in protest
She holds onto the departed, confining the souls of Gaza’s children under the earth
The Olive tree longs for her sisters, all burned alive from above
A white cloud of death arrived and annihilated her whole family
The Olive tree, weakened by adolescence, could not save them.
She mourns for her sisters as she lives on for them
Rich with the essence of the fallen martyrs
The Olive tree shelters Gaza with her branches
A crater in the soil is formed, exposing her vines
She looks up at God as he smiles down at her
A torrent of salty fog besieges the Olive Tree
Sulfur and metal seep into its leafy pores
The Olive tree looks up and sees nothing but the open sky
A body collapses in the crater as Mother Earth absorbs him
As the reeds of a familiar hat glides down towards her
The Olive tree understands God has become a martyr
How lucky he is, to eternally remain in Palestine
Buried amongst The Olive Tree’s children.
The Soil
Mother Earth’s finest tool
Her bridge between the world of man and her world of botany
Mother Earth’s soil houses all of her children
The soil of the olive tree has always been stronger
Hardened by the residue of bombs and fertilized by the tears of mothers
The olive tree needs no rain, for the ever-flowing blood of Gaza’s martyrs keeps her fed
The farmer looks after the soil, always giving it a reassuring pat
The patch of soil is mighty, mighty enough to beat the infections of the occupation
The soil sees the hands of her caretaker fall, and his body meets the same fate
It braces for the impact of the farmer, creating a trench to brace the impact
The soil has seen this many times before.
Waiting for the familiar sugar of blood to flow within its dirt
The soil cries for the tree, as the body is solidified under the earth
The cycle of Gaza is now complete
With another martyr buried and another mother crying over his death.
