Forgive me... I will write for Palestine

I will write for Palestine…
And if the pen slips from my fingers, I will break enough of my bones to make a pen from them, for a homeland that resides in the bones deserves nothing less than writing from the bones themselves.

And if the ink dries, I will open a vein of my heart and make my blood ink that flows on the pages like the longing that flows in our souls every time the name Palestine crosses our ears.
What kind of homeland is this that the farther we get from it, the closer it comes to us?
And what kind of love is this that does not grow old, no matter how old the days get, how weary the cities become, and how crowded the disappointments are?

And if the paper runs out, I will skin a last page from my flesh and write its name on it, for Palestine is not just a word to be said but a beating pulse to be lived and a beautiful wound we carry within us as if it were a medal from God upon the chests of the patient.

I do not write about Palestine as a cause,
I write about it as a mother who wipes the dust of defeats from our foreheads and says: There is still enough in you to rise.
I write about it as a beloved who knows that no matter how late we are, we will return to her, for the heart knows only its first path.

This is me.
And these are the morals of Fatah that I carry in my blood before my name
That the homeland remains greater than the wound
And greater than the conflict
And greater than all those who tried to make its pain a ladder for their petty interests.

With this love I will proceed
Not for myself, but for a child who wants to grow under a sun that is not blocked by a wall
And for a mother who waits for her son from captivity as the earth waits for the first rains 
And for a martyr who left in the air one last will: Do not leave Palestine alone.

And I will also write for the peace that befits Palestine
A peace that does not touch dignity nor compromise on rights, but restores the child's laughter, the mother her son, and the land its assurance, so that the ink that flows from my blood becomes a bridge between pain and assurance, and between agony and the coming dawn.

I will write until the occupation is defeated by our patience, love, and faith
And I will write until national unity returns as warmth in this tired Palestinian house.
And I will write until corruption is ashamed of itself before the tears of the people and before this people who deserves a life worthy of its sacrifices.

For me, Palestine is not just land
It is a pulse that if it stops, the entire language stops with it.
It is the name that every time I write it, I feel like I am writing myself, my father, my mother, my childhood, the memory of the camp, and the smell of the earth after the rain.

And for her, I will write until I achieve the peace that preserves the homeland, protects the human being, and grants this land its right to life, a peace born from the justice of the soul and the sincerity of belonging, not from the exhaustion of peoples nor from the silence of pain.

For her
If I do not find a pen, I will write with my bone.
And if the ink dries, I will write with my blood.
And if the paper is lost, I will write with my skin.
And if the words tire, the tears will speak.

For Palestine… the love that never ends and the peace that we will create with our will.