68 Keys

October 15, 2017
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

to unlock

freedom’s doors is never easy
there were those who said
“I shall try”
but no one would
they would choose to turn away
turn away from the  68 year old man
who never gave up from the beginning of his time
from the beginning of his life
from the year it all, started

So 68 years forward
Im telling you how

68 million words distraught
68 clouds rain tears 68 feet above
68 children, with 68 wounds awaiting their turn on the swings
swings they “may be permitted” for 68 , seconds, only
and have I mentioned the 68 million plus others?
68 tears sobbing on the ceramic floor, modifying what was once an art
a mother, a mother’s mother, a mother’s sister, a mother’s husband, a mother’s child, to a puddle of no hope
hope that was lost 68 years ago
in spite of all these 68 issues contradicting reality
68 olive trees
stood there afraid not to be picked
as for her people afraid of being picked out
and the 68 pilgrims
that flew majestically in Palestine’s azure
reminding its victims
reminding its victims
and reminding its victims
that 68 years later Peace was what they hoped should cover
its land
other than the olive trees
and the grass
and the figs
and the innocent claret
the army tanks still stand
the way the 68 olive trees posed on the valley hills

and the 68 keys
that scatter all around
the urban cities, country farms
but are nowhere to be found
yet my keys, I watched them fade
there 5 of my keys were traded for my family’s meal
a meal of bread crumbs and olive oil
the couple other keys were given to a stranger
and eighteen keys were given to a settler at an auction
where all the money in the world couldn't bid on my happiness
but could bid on my eighteen keys

sooner or later it became a tradition
it was probably every week or seven times a week
they were snatching keys from every division
you would think the whole situation was a secret mission
but my keys became a sensation
on the television the other the day
the media asked me for a favour
ten of my keys were gone with no return or a sorry note
and all i could cope with were 68 words on a paper
promises to reveal the truth
somewhere where honesty is no relief
How could the people stand with a population
that weren’t guaranteed success
and sure enough
i still had 33 keys left
but being grateful was always a demand
for an education, that was 6 keys
but you would learn how to write
and for the birth of an upcoming threat, 18 keys were handed
for 18 years of a mother’s hand around her beloved
at the borders they laid loose and you would only lose 1 key
Generosity was to be appreciated 
even if there was nothing to appreciate

8 keys left out of 68 agonising years
7 keys for 7 days
and for 7 days, a key lost is surviving
but  one key stood tall
guiding its people, my people, our people
to the doors of freedom
the doors of the old city of Jerusalem aka (Beit Al Muqdas)

The author's comments:

This poem is a slam poem that talks about my homeland Palestine. I hope you enjoy it.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.

Parkland Book