People often ask
What’s martyrdom?
And who’s a martyr?

In an era of chaos and horror
Mayhem and state terror

The villain is considered a victim
While the victim is blamed
The occupier defended
And the occupied defamed

Where the stone is a threat
To a soldier inside a tank
While crushing the skull of a child
Invites only cold stares,
Empty and blank

When the olive tree is uprooted
Planted in its place,
A concrete wall
Separating the small farm
From its drizzling rain
A mother from her beloved son
History from geography
An old man denied his prayers
Across the street
Upon the call

A little girl walking to her kindergarten
With her lunchbox in one hand
While the other clinging
To her mother’s dress
Having to pass two checkpoints
Ten jeeps, four tanks
More or less

An old grandmother waiting patiently
Her headscarf loose in the burning sun
Holding tight to her pass
For her kidney dialysis
While soldiers at the checkpoint
Play cards and poke fun

A little boy watching a twenty something
With a machine gun on his shoulder
Slapping his father in the face
Because he spoke out of turn
To rush the line
And hasten the pace

Martyrdom is witnessing
The freedom song choked
Deep in the throat
The tulip weathering away
In the field
Before the spring
The brick furnace broken
No longer baking bread
The coffee shops empty
After dark
As canaries stopped to sing

A martyr is a live witness
To injustice
Challenging its cruelty
Denying it in her heart
Defying its brutality
Willing to give up
His life and soul
So as not to submit
To oppression
Nor lose the precious
The forever cherished
Human dignity