From a poem by Palestinian poet Tawfiq Zayyad (my translation)
My land..! My friends!..
My stolen treasure..! My history..
The bones of my father and
grandfather are denied to me,
so how can I forgive?
If they mount the gallows for
me...I am not forgiving
These green villages of ours
have all become our blood
and scattered traces
Ones have remained
and still fighting
with nails...
Do not tell me..do not tell me..!
Even tombstones have been scattered.