The nothingness inside
Holds true for most of us
At times it may
Strike a chord or even two
Instilling passion and despise
Some may even gladly offer
Whatever’s in their coffers
As we continue to speak our hearts
Standing up to protest
Shouting slogans designed to awaken
The souls of those still at rest
The calls to unite in His name
But to what extent can we claim
That we’ve aided our brothers
Oh Palestine,
To what extent can we claim
That we’ve aided those who bled
A teary eye serves as to naught
Same too a helpless sigh,
For the battle that lies at hand
Is deeper than one thinks...
As his ten little fingers,
Clutch onto the bottle
Not letting go,
Till he’s had his feed
Amidst the roaring sounds
Of what may seem like thunder
Blissfully suckling
As the others continue fighting
The same ten little fingers
Provide hope for the mother
Who knows not of the future,
Yet unruffled toward fate
Should He decide to choose
Her son as HIS warrior
To defend HIS holy land
Fighting tyranny head on
Alas but stones at hand
This is not a call to arms
Nor a call to recruit
Just a mere reflection
Of how things are today
This is a call to those
Filled with apathy and indifference
To the plight of our brothers
Whose blood is spilled each day
To my brothers, Oh Palestine
Your blood may stain the streets
Your shouts might’ve been ignored
Inallaha Ma’ana
Have faith in Allah’s word
That those who are oppressed
Will rise among the best
Have faith, our day will come
Do not despair
Our day will come
