There has to be some kind of error,

for all I have seen is terror.

My insecure yet holy city,

is overflowing with nothing but pity.

I witness the cries of my people.

Out loud and in silence.

During the day and night.

While some eat and some starve.

They cry for a better tomorrow.

They cry for rights.

They cry for the honor of their land.

The land of which

my heritage,

my beginnings,

and my story

are forever engraved in.

And as I glisten over the horizon,

which no able eye can miss

I just like to think and reminisce,

before the times my city was wasted

into this massive, and Blood filled abyss.

The times I really was a holy and respected city.

When I was a center for knowledge.

When scholars from all over flocked to learn in my kingdom.

When the citizens traded goods with justice and freedom.

Now, generations of Hate, and lives are just wasted

And again we lay in the same situation.

Oppression.

With out a doubt there are many questions.

Unspoken yet explicit.

When will she be free?

When will victory come upon her?

When will she hold her banner up high?

That is, the glorious banner of Palestine.