‘Intifada’ & ‘Martyr’: Poems for Palestine

A mural by Palestinian artist Ismail Matar, known as the ‘Painter of the Refugee Camp’. (Photo: Mahmoud Ajjour, The Palestine Chronicle)


Return to your land
And I will go back to mine.
You sowed the seed.
But it’s nourished by the blood
of my brethren.
The orange trees bear fruits of


The olives reek of death.
It is on my beloved land,
You have cast your walls of


The lambs of the prophets of
Golan Heights
Graze on blood-stained grass.
Jerusalem, the land of peace,
You know the prophets roamed
These lands,
Gaza still echoes of poetry,
Darwish and Barghouti.
Holy land, indeed.
Your cruel bombs,
Your drones,
Your cut-throat bullets;
Elements of the brief monsoon.
Spring blooms of trees
Erupting off Qabrs
Pampered by breeze
Fragranced by martyrdom.

(Translated by Anan Ashraf)



Do you remember the day I was killed?
And my poetry drenched in blood?

When I fought hunger with letters,
The strong ones tore my tongue.
The black sky above was as dark
As the black ribbon on your chest
And the black flag was hoisted
for my “Republic”.
The fragrance of burned incenses
Remembered the good old spring.
Wind mocked a smile on its lips
Kissing the nostalgic aroma.
A flea after a long search,
Reached my scared face
to cover it with the tiny wings.
My people walked carrying me
Their holy chants hit my keen ears
Like slogans, I couldn’t raise
And my funeral became
A march I couldn’t join.
My helpless dead heart trembled in anger
Moving the butterfly bullet it bore.
The blood spilt in motion
Tinged my white shroud with red.
Six feet deep was the womb
of the holy land
Ready to bear its son
to be born into eternity.

“What shall we plant on the martyr’s grave?”

Shouted an old man.
“A henna” came the reply.
“Upon the martyr of love,
Let it bloom, and colour
His pale hands red like blood”.
“No, a jasmine,” said a voice
“They resemble his teeth,
And on amorous nights
May his beloved’s hair
Untie its scent.
“Let’s plant both,” said someone

Putting an end to says.
Both bloomed together!
Beside the martyr lies
The grave of his beloved
Hennaed to beauty
with branches spreading to Quds.
And there stood jasmine
The headstone of their love
Perfumed by freedom
with flowers adorning Gaza.

(Translated by Muhammad Nihad)

– Fadlurrahman was born in 1995, in Vazhikkadavu village, in India . His fascination with literature and poetry began when he was an undergraduate student. He has written several poems, short stories and articles on a wide range of themes like Islam, human rights, politics, war, liberation, environment, West Asia and Muslims of India. Apart from literature and academics, he pursues his interest in political activism and theatre. He contributed these poems to The Palestine Chronicle

(The Palestine Chronicle is a registered 501(c)3 organization, thus, all donations are tax deductible.)
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