Photo courtesy of Foreign Policy


Where do these words come from?

From the bleeding River Jordan.

From the Gaza sea bobbing with

bodies and food packages. From

the mosque in Rafah in the gunsights


of a tank. From Al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital

where limbs are amputated to save

broken lives. From Nuseirat,

Deir-al-Balah, Gaza City. Name

your deconstruction site. Name


your university dismantled:

Al-Quds Open, Gaza, Al-Aqsa, Al-Azhar.

Name your hospital. Everyone has been

bombed except for Al Aqsar Martyrs

which becomes the healing center


of this trans-body experience. Today

I seek to write your suffering.

I pitch my tent on the campus lawn.

I research how to divest from

companies selling shells raining


on you. I join your cry: We will

not be moved, although bombs

and leaflets are close by. They

approach. The end they promise

will come. But olive trees are people


and they resist. roots deep

in the earth. They live on buried

water and food. The time of locusts

will pass. This I see and hear

in my dream. I eat olives.


I drink water from the water truck.

I scramble with friends uphill

running from tear gas and bullets.

I send you doves. I send you

these words from where words come.

Watch Where Olive Trees Weep here: