I met Jesus today
His name was Palestinian
Issa… Jesus he was called
On the altar of “chosen-ness” he was crucified
Time and time and time again
*****
His face was Palestinian
Olive, with a hint of agony
Yet
Years of torture fail to conceal the glow
The purity of his soul peeks through
The sparkle in his eyes invites you to dive in
*****
His pain was Palestinian
The colour of his words
Grips your guts
And squeeze… squeeze … squeeze
Until you lose consciousness
You fall on your knees
Begging for forgiveness
*****
His faith was Palestinian
“Their sadism too much to bear
In the street I waited for a car
No way out but to kill myself
Twilight hour the fall of night
The call to prayer woken my heart
Healing balsam caressed my soul
Maybe…. In this life… still…there is something I can do”
*****
His heart was Palestinian
Carved with sorrow
Filled with love
Flames of rage and roars of thunder
Hound his torturer to his grave
*****
His tears were Palestinian
His first crucifixion… he was only fourteen
On the second, he was nineteen
From then on
He was crucified every minute of every hour of every day of every week of every month of every year
*****
His dignity was Palestinian
Anguished by his rapists
With his broken back he stood tall
His wounds run deep… his head held high
He saw the rainbow in the horizon
When all gave up he gave them hope
*****
His smile was Palestinian
It has been said:
“To smile when confronted with most severe oppression
Is an act of Resistance
Rooted
In unparalleled beauty” *
The smile of Issa
Was Palestinian
*****
His resilience was Palestinian
“As he punched me in the face
I felt stronger
As he kicked me in the stomach
I felt stronger
As he slashed my arm
I felt stronger”, he said
*****
His hope was Palestinian
Insha’Allah, ya rab, Alhamdulillah
Bouncy words sprinkled around
Buds of trust bloom and grow
His broad grin whiffs you to life
His nightmares close their eyes
His tales of horror lie to slumber
When all lost hope he saw a future
I saw Jesus today
Poem by Nahida Izzat
*Qoute by Jonathan Azaziah
Nahida Izzat is a Jerusalem-born Palestinian refugee who has lived in exile for over forty two years, after being forced to leave her homeland at the tender age of seven in 1967, during the six-day war. She has a degree in mathematics, but art is one of her favorite pastimes. She loves hand-made things and so makes dolls, cards, and most of her own clothes. She also writes poetry, participates in written dialogues and believes in building bridges, not walls.
She started writing when her friends insisted she should write about her memories, experiences and feelings as a Palestinian.When she did it all came out sounding—she was told—like poetry! So she self-published two books: I Believe in Miracles and Palestine, The True Story.
Her dream is to return back home to a free and liberated Palestine.
If you like poetry and are intrigued by the notion of helping the Palestinian people and learning more, you can purchase Nahida's books, I Believe in Miracles and Palestine, The True Story by visiting:
£12.99 paperback Nahida Izzat (2004)
You can write to Nahida : nahidaexiledpalestinian@gmail.com
Courtesey: Nahida Izzat
Salam, Nahida
I am overwhelmed with the way you voice peculiarities of goodness which are so intrinsic to Muslim culture, and they have been removed and displaced by all sorts of invasion, colonial, intellectual as well as material. I am from Kashmir, and it's situation is much the same. I want to share few lines with you from my friend who writes poetry
While in a bid to restore their dead to peace,
when the murderer left for a good night’s sleep,
ask them about the words they left
half chocked while in a hurry to the monastery,
they will be reminded of a grand theft
that had divested our town of the merry.
Death is a dirge,
Sung like an upsurge of the life’s untraded dreams.
Or, may be, a merry song when our smiles merge,
within the peripheries of deliberate sobbing screams.
We were deemed homeless,
and we were never given to forgetfulness.
We were Occupied ... Ashfaq Saraf (a Kashmiri poet)from his poem 'occupied'
I would like to say in the end, that we must heal each other's bruises.
Freedom for Kashmir, Palestine, Afghanistan and many others (Tribals and poor people of India) too