Phalapoem editor, 10/11/25
Dear Olive Tree,
How many storms have passed over your branches, how many seasons of silence have you endured? Your bark bears the story of centuries — carved by wind, scarred by fire, yet still you rise against the sky of Palestine. You stand where the soil remembers every footstep, every prayer whispered into the dust.
When I touch your trunk, it feels like touching the heartbeat of my homeland — steady, patient, eternal. You have seen generations come and go: farmers who sang to you at dawn, children who climbed your limbs with laughter, and mothers who pressed your oil into bread and hope. You have also witnessed exile, the quiet ache of absence, and the longing that lives in every stone of this land.
Even when the fields were taken and the hills grew silent, you refused to die. Each spring you bloom again, small white blossoms trembling in defiance — a soft, living protest written in petals. You remind us that to belong is not a privilege, but a birthright; that roots, once deep, cannot be erased by borders or time.
You are more than a tree — you are Palestine itself: wounded, beautiful, unyielding. In your shadow, I remember who we are — a people who endure, who rebuild, who love their land even in absence.
With faith and love,
Your Child of Palestine