"Letter of Palestanian child to Queen of Sweden
By Jalila Jishi
To the queen distant from my mother's painful wounds
Speak not of what you do not know about my mother and me
In her bread, there is a warmth that fills the world with love
In her dress, there is a scent that fills the world with care.
Excuse me ... but do not, against her, make unjust accusations.
My mother who was orphaned
My mother who was widowed
My mother who, in her face, the massacres of my people are etched
My mother who held in her palms the flaming coals of steadfastedness
My mother who witnessed in her age the bitterness of chains
My mother who embraced death alone, behind the borders
And my mother who lost my father as she patiently awaited eras
And my mother who sacrificed for her children all efforts
Do not, queen, utter what you do not know about my mother and me.
You, who in your ivory castle, saunter
And wear the finest and most modern attire
And eat the tastiest European foods
You who, on fur and silk sheets, sleep
How can someone like you ever know my mother?
My mother, who gave me to suckle the milk of the nation
And who from her forgotten tent fed me the love of land.
So do not imagine wrongly and know that ... I thrive from my mother's
veins...and my mother's breath ... and my mother's tears ... and my mother's
agony and anguish.
Still, madam, the love of the nation and the passion of land, is more
precious than my soul and my blood.
Yet, fifty thousand apologies and more you should make and bow with respect
to my mother and me."
via
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