Flood of crimson poppies
Soaking green fields
Sinking soil seeps
As Palestine weeps
Blood

Her olives, land, identity,
Like the scarlet anemone,
Stolen, colonised, appropriated-
Suddenly, laughably,
‘Israeli’

A wild, ancient seed
Germinating in soil that buried
Forty generations of Palestinians passed
Al-Shaqa’iq al-Nu’man now recast –
Israel’s national flower,
‘Kalanit’

Erasing, replacing, her twelve Arabic names
Long woven through Palestinian hair,
Literature, medicine, folk-tales
As old as the gnarled olive trees,
Tended by calloused Arab hands
For centuries

And yet, in torturous spite
Of land and people colonised,
The ancient hills of Galilee
Still bloom wildly,
Defiantly

Rooted in deep, fertile pain,
A Palestine occupied, dehumanised, slain,
They deepen their scarlet flush,
Weeping tears of blood,
Solidarity

Resilient hills of green and crimson flame,
Calling to all beyond the Palestinian plain,
From our fire, distill
Unwavering love, collective will,
Sacrifice

Until our colours mark freedom’s flag,
Sewn from the scars
Of stateless, voiceless exiles,
Rise!

Until our tradition, history, identity
Reclaim their rightful integrity,
Break distorted, colonial narratives,
And set the truth free,
Rise,
Rise,
Resist

Fatema Valji | @poetryfv