Phalapoem editor, 30/11/25
Dear Olive Tree,
This morning, I watched a child plant a sapling beside your roots. His small hands pressed the soil with care, his face shining with a quiet pride he could not yet name. The air was cool, filled with the scent of wild thyme and the distant hum of the land awakening. You stood above him like a guardian, ancient, patient, eternal, as if blessing him with your shadow.
In that moment, I understood what you have been trying to tell us all along: that hope does not grow from words alone, but from hands that touch the earth. That every seed we plant is a promise, a promise that life continues, that Palestine endures.
The children of this land carry your story in their hearts. They grow among your branches, learning the language of the soil, the rhythm of the wind. They know that every olive they pick, every sapling they nurture, is an act of remembrance and of defiance. They have inherited both your resilience and your grace.
You, dear tree, have seen centuries pass, empires rise and fall, seasons of struggle and silence. Yet here you are, still alive, still giving. And now the children of Palestine carry your legacy forward. In their laughter, in their songs, in the gardens they plant beside their homes, they build tomorrow with faith that no storm can wash away.
One day, this young sapling will stand tall beside you. Its roots will intertwine with yours, its leaves will dance in the same sun. And long after we are gone, it will tell our story of endurance, of love, of belonging, just as you have done for generations.
For as long as olive trees grow in this land,
Palestine will never forget who she is.
With eternal faith,
Your Child of Palestine