As a Palestinian refugee for over 40 years, and like all Palestinians, the meaning of “home” became a deeper, more intense concept tainted with colours of, not only, happiness, security, serenity, and joy; but also of sorrow, pain, shame and rage. The word “home” for me is a constant reminder of “loss of home”, and the passionate desire to go home.

I want to go home

Home is the warmth of Jerusalem summer sky
Shining over silver green olive trees

Home is a warm blanket
That hugged a little girl
During an air raid

Home is a defiant stone
In a child’s hand
Aiming at a tank, a soldier
Or even an apache helicopter

Home is a large rustic key
Hanging on a jagged wall
In a refugee camp
Or adorning grandma’s chest
Sitting proudly next to her heart
Waiting desperately to be reused

Home is a tear drop in an old man’s eyes
A broken lantern in a burned cottage
A sad melody in a bird’s song

Home is the warmth of Jerusalem summer sky
Shining over silver green olive trees

Home is a sacred word
Rooted in a glorious yesterday
It’s broken, dignified branches
Patiently hanging on
Despite all horrors of today
Blooming into the sky
Of a magnificent tomorrow

Home is the sweet scent of love
The delicious taste of passion
The magnificent colour of the joy
The tender touch of the beloved

Home is the warmth of Jerusalem summer sky
Shining over silver green olive trees

I want to go home