The Cry of the Victim

The Cry of the Victim

Tawfiq Zaiyyad I was set upon by foreign thieves Who stole my trees, fruits and leaves, Who robbed me of my fertile soil, Of my bread, water, and oil; And with one wild, sweeping swing, They deprived my people of everything; But they could not take away my pride, Nor the solidity of my firm stride: I stand tall, defying their injustice Despite the torture they daily practice. They planted a tragedy in every home And buried our sun in darkling gleam. My voice continues to cry in the distance Till it awakens the world's conscience.