From a poem by Palestinian poet Mahmud Darwish (my translation):
"Oh, my proud wound
my homeland is not a briefcase
And I am not a traveler
I am the lover, and the land is my beloved!
...The archeologist is busy with stone analysis
he is looking for his eyes in the burial of myths
to prove that I am:
a passerby in the path,
without eyes!
Not a letter in the sojourn of civilization!
And I plant my trees, slowly,
and about my love, I sing!"