A Stone that Hits or Eludes
By: Talaat Skairek

A stone, some water, an ear of corn,


The bullets of a song, throwing lights:


A star above the horizon, climbing the heights;


The small boy's hand is bleeding, torn


Yet full of promises, never wavering,


Like green leaves, trembling, not withering


The boy's hands, like towering plam-trees


Waved the world's stones in the breeze.


Like two poems, a bomb, an ear of corn


From which a happy tomorrow was born


And birds, fields, rain, and the tone


Of singing nightengales, throbbing waves


Like the oranges, the houses, the boy braves


Every peril, and while he proudly walks


In throngs in the streets, he will awaken


Aspirations, roots, history, dream, all shaken


To anew life, moving, transcending,


Baptized in blood, towering, ascending,


Taking the trees, embracing the stones !


Dews and violets feed at his bones


He has cleft perdition asunder,


Bringing the sun, smiling from the thunder.


A stone that eludes, then suddenly hits,


Wearing fingerprints, like a uniform, fits,


In the hand of a freedom fighter, a muzzle


Of a firing gun, that mystifies like a puzzle,


Filling the earth, spaceand wind with thunder,


Exploding from nowhere, to make enemies wonder!


A stone thrown along the road by young ran gars,


Reviving the history of all displaced "strangers".


Filling tee streets of Palestine with fire,


And alarming the world, proclaiming our ire.


A stone revives houses and old memories,


Telling a long history of Palestinian stories,


Wearing the colours of fields, mountains,


Heralding da wn o ver our sweet fountains. !


A stone that passes whizzing over fields,


Becoming the song of our land, and shields


Our past and future from the prying eyes


Of alien usurpers, while we rise­


Even in martyrdom, on white horses,


Bringing back our valiant, roaring forces.


Reviving the wedding day of my grandfather


Asserting that our land is not for sale or barter


Yes hall never paas


There is a hidden secret in our soil


That we have fed with diligent toil


Ye shall never paas !


The trees, the streams tell the story of our life,


Which has been full of strong strife


We shall protect Palestine with the sword,


Because it is our destiny, our reward


Ye shall never pass


We belong to a strong, tough pedigree.


We are as old as our bold Galilee.


A stone tells the story of promising rain,


Showing that our struggle is not in vain.


A stone that hits, whizzing past, eludes,


A stone whose epic my grandfather concludes:


That our people shall never fear death,


And the long night brings dawn's breath


Over Acre, over the smiling palms:


My grandfather had no fears or qualms


He advised us never to cry, grieve or moan


But to tighten our fists on every stone


He himself fought and never left the stone.


He himself fought and never left the stone.