Sparrows are bells strung
In the unending celebration
Hidden in the wind.

And the wind recites
A thousand pages,
Of a thousand olive trees.

And the olive trees
Drink the sweat
Of my father.

And he holds me.
In his arms still…
As the arms of Palestine.

-Abid

So I wrote this very briefly and didnt think to revise it. It was a result of happiness and relief I felt so briefly in this valley of our struggling reality. Its free as verse gets, and I really like it, Id like to think of it as an entire moment of confession and submission to the honesty of joy.  But you may think what kind of joy is this, this joy is hope. So, I hope you enjoy it 🙂

This is a picture of hope I took on the wall in the  West Bank.