I am a Palestinian before I am Australian, a 17 year old girl, lucky enough to be living safely in Australia. I am the daughter and granddaughter of refugees who come from a small village called Yibna, with over 80 of my family members currently grounded in Gaza. Multiple killed by the ongoing aggression in Gaza, yet despite this there always remains a promise that Jerusalem is in fact ours. This essence is captured in the poem below “.القدس لنا (Jerusalem is ours.)”:
My name is Lujane Aladdin Saleh Mohammad Ibrahim Abuelwan
Names that trace back to the land
Written in Arabic – the mother tongue by hand
Names that trace back ancestry that lace history
The one that writes victory
It was always written for us
.القدس لنا (Jerusalem is ours.)
انتي روح ارواحنا يا فلسطين (You are the soul of our souls Palestine)
Our soul is dying yet we live
The land of peace yet the peace is dead
Blood and tears; all thats shed
Countries of “democracy”
Yet all they embody is hypocrisy
حفيد النكبة (The grandchild of the nakba)
Its in your blood and you should too
Echo their voices
So that it marks history
Just as the martyrs have marked their blood on our hearts too
Flares that light up the night sky
As they look up, not kites, but rockets that fly
Children don’t remember the last time it was blue
Or rather when their kites last flew
The universal declaration of “human rights”
More like the one that dehumanises our plight
“Terrorists”, they call us as we fight
The one that forced Palestinians across the world
Article 26: everyone has the right to education undoubtedly
What about the announcement of the end of the schooling year?
There are no children left my dear
Universities are gone; its clear
علمنا هي سلاحنا (our knowledge is our weapon)
As my mother tells me always
Victory is only a call away
So I study hard everyday;
For you ya filasteen
Article 15: The right to live safely in your land in peace
What about the refugees in their own homeland?
Or the laws by the occupiers that have everything banned
Article 3: Every child has the right to live
What about the average age of death: 5 years old?
The ink has dried from the pens
Messages no longer appearing from their friends
Alive or not; they’ll never know
If their family dies
Where will they go?
لات خافي يا حبيبتي (Don’t fear my love)
The mother reassures her child
Her embrace feels like a glove
The glove of reassurance she doesn’t wear
How do I reassure my mother when her heart tears
I look at her and the tear that falls from how scared she is
My heart breaks, a knife to my heart
I cant wait to tell her at last
تحررت فلسطين (Mum Palestine is free)
Communications cut off
Another tie to the land
You might aswell tie my other hand
The one that yearns to touch the olives
The one that yearns to learn tatreez
The one teta can do with ease
Is this the life I used to kick my mother’s stomach for?
Or what about the dreams that faded in the fire?
Arabic writing on the walls were never liars
Can you hear their voice echo?
The one that awaits us later
History is never a traitor
It’s written.
القدس لنا (Jerusalem is ours.)
– Lujane Elwan
Coming from Palestine myself, this poem really touched me.
Love!!!