Palestine

Palestine: Home of the Heart

I arrived in Palestine as though I were returning to an ancient olive tree that had been waiting for me for centuries. I touched the land, and the olive trees greeted me like an open sky great the morning. I embraced a jasmine plant growing randomly on the balcony, its branches holding me over like hidden morning prayers. I sat silently with the sage, breathing in the face of the sky and listening to the call of my soul until I found myself. I drank water from my well, and the water carved new stories through my veins.

In Palestine, my childhood was set free in the morning. Memories rushed out of my heart like a river meets the sea. Here, time does not matter because in Palestine, my soul recognized itself, my body, heart, and "Rohi" finally in one place togther.

The sky here is not merely a blue empty space but an outstretched tattoo carved on a hand embracing the land, protecting it from teargas. The sky and the land recognized me after long absence.

The land welcomed me as a mother welcomes her returning child, opening her arms to me, gifting me a bundle of wild sage and a lemon tree that gathered the scattered pieces of exile from my face.

Birds fluttered above me as if calling on the neighbors to my return home. The land here chants the names of the returning children.

The mountain air rushed into my chest until I felt saffron sprouting from my viens. On my land, I was breathing for the very first time in decades. Everything around me, the sky, the birds, the Zater, the trees, the sage came together to tell me: “You have returned, and the home has never stopped waiting for you.”