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there are no
days without
Palestine in a heart
that was told
it was wrong
to yearn for
something that
was supposedly never
mine
my heart
yearns beyond
knowledge of what
was and will be
a certainty
words can never
define
i gaze
my third eye
stretching to fields
of citrus and olive
where blood is spilled
that feels and looks
like mine
mapping a trail
along nine countries
where blood and tears
store pieces of
indigeneity
that is mine
i wonder
when she will
call me home
opening her bosom
to states of awareness
beyond time
and place
i am and am not
home
for i am
Palestine and
she yearns for
me to taste
home