The Last Bill... Sunlight

In a homeland where patience has become a crime,
the citizen opens his eyes to a sun that has been imposed with new fees,
as if the light itself has become a commodity,
and as if the sun, the last free gift from the sky,
is mocking him before he even starts his day.

A homeland where three hundred thousand workers are deprived of jobs inside the Green Line for more than two and a half years,
not for any crime they committed,
but because the land has decided to be a playground of absurdity in the face of their dreams and the innocent dreams of their families,
as if politics is telling them:
"Stay stagnant numbers in the ledger of farce."

And nearly one hundred eighty thousand employees swallow disappointment every morning
and stand in bank queues,
looking at twenty billion shekels piled up, frozen, and curled like a turtle afraid of any movement.
It does not move nor breathe life into money,
but at least it has not turned into a complete mockery as some of the so-called honorable ministers do.

Knowing that I personally submitted a complete professional and national plan to decision-makers to reactivate the stagnant, useless money in banks.
But the response? Perhaps it will arrive with the first comet coming from space that lands on Ramallah,
or it will get lost in an endless void of absurdity…
for absurdity has become official policy,
and the deadly routine has become a constitution stronger than the constitution itself,
and the citizen stands there confused like a sarcastic symbol of long waiting,
waiting for a miracle or just settling for bitter laughter at what remains of his dignity.

In this place, fuel prices soar like flames,
and the road has become a test of patience or death, either slow or fast.
Schools and hospitals have turned into equations of life or death,
and universities? They have become figures tossed around by absurd decisions,
with tuition fees swallowing a part of the parents' dignity time and again,
and lectures stopping for no reason,
while the dreams of youth stumble between barriers, fear, and detention,
as if education has become an adventure like walking in a forest filled with monsters.

Also, in this homeland, the sun itself, as the last free source of energy, has been imposed with a new fee,
as if every ray of light has become a financial item…
and the citizen calculates every step, every breath, every drop of sweat, and every piece of bread…
while the clowns among the honorable calculate their cars and the parades of their medical and tourist travels at the expense of our blood,
as if the state is their backyard for them and their most ridiculous offspring, even though most of them are ambassadors and dignitaries too, I mean the offspring,
and the grief-stricken people are merely actors in an absurd play without a script.

Even the law, oh God, has become a game in their hands,
enacted, applied, and postponed as the honorable desires,
used to freeze rights and restrain initiatives or to showcase power in a place that only needs the power of logic, not the absurd logic of strength,
and every new decision, from taxes on the sun to rising fuel costs,
becomes a new link in a never-ending farce of absurdity.

But there are also in this homeland... I mean this very homeland... real heroes... they are the valiant Palestinian security men,
who still stand strong and proud amidst the destruction,
guarding people from themselves and the absurdity of the clowns,
and proving that there are those who are trying to preserve something precious called order,
and something even more precious called homeland,
and they deserve all respect and appreciation. They are the last remaining logic in this daily farce.

And the people? They are still alive and angry and sarcastic, laughing at every new absurd decision
and at every postponement that recycles the crisis like a repetitive CD without an end.

This very homeland wants its citizens a full salary, accessible work, reasonable fuel, and a present doctor,
and a sun that shines for everyone, quality education for students, and rights not to be traded for a procession or a privilege for a clown here or there.

Oh great leadership of Fatah... Fatah, the mother of the masses and the maker of the Palestinian dream, the people can no longer bear it.
Regain control and restore initiative
and mobilize all tools of politics, economics, and diplomacy to restore people's rights, not to beautify the ruin.
Every day of postponement, every absurd decision, every farce at the expense of this people is a blatant insult
and an official absurdity that laughs at us in the face of our tired faces.

The homeland is not a theater, and the Palestinian is not a number...
but he knows that laughing at destruction has become a daily duty,
and that sarcastic anger is his sword and mirror.
Regain the homeland... word by word, right after right, and justice after justice.

And the sons of Palestine... they are the ones who carry real hope
they are the ones who save dignity from the absurdity of occupation and from the farce they live because of some honorable people and clowns,
for they are the ones who will bring life back to every word "homeland" and to every right and every dream and every wasted laugh.

The people are alive... sarcastic... steadfast...
preserving their dignity amidst destruction and laughing in the face of absurdity,
because they know that sarcasm is their mirror and anger is their last ray,
and the right will return no matter how long the night lasts.