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THEY SAID....
They said they'd not been told, they didn't know
Maybe it happened maybe not
And if it did it was so long ago
They weren't responsible for what
Others had done. In any case,
Look at the map, they said,
You'll see there's no such place.
I close my eyes imagining the scene
A peaceful village high upon a hill.
The morning breaks, a pale April sun
Stirs life inside the houses made of stone.
A woman carries water from the well
A child laughs at his shadow on the wall.
Was this the way it was? This much is known
The invaders came, they took control and then
The terrorists began their careful kill.
This was a peaceful village on a hill.
They said, Why bring that up? What good does it do?
These things will happen in a war
And in the heat of battle Arab, Jew
Do things we afterwards deplore
But that was then, forget, forgive.
The fact is now that's where other people live.
This was no battle. Resistance was at an end.
It was a massacre the world forgot
So brutal it must have been designed
To terrorise the Arabs from their land.
What other reason could there be but that?
And did they feel no pity at the sight
Of children's bodies bloodstaining the ground
Of women stabbed, their dreams drowning the wind
Of men thrown onto lorries and then shot?
This was a massacre the world forgot.
They said that this unfortunate affair
Although it might be called a crime
Could not, they said, in any way compare
With what they'd suffered in their time
And so, they said, please understand
And face the facts - this is now our Promised Land.
I thought I heard a voice cry, I speak for the dead
The dead of Deir Yassin who cannot rest
While still our pain and suffering are denied
And none knows who we were or why we died.
You who oppress us and were once oppressed
Do not pretend that we did not exist
And do not let our stories go unheard.
Acknowledge now at last the price we paid.
You took our live and all that we possessed.
The dead of Deir Yassin who cannot rest.
They said they'd not been told, they didn't know
Maybe it happened, maybe not ....
SONG OF THE OLIVE TREE
My father's father's father planted here
In this now broken earth an olive tree
And as a child I sang to it my secrets
And as I grew I felt it part of me.
Its branches gave me shelter from the sun.
Its grey-green leaves shaded my young dreams.
The fruit it bore was like a gift of hope.
Of all the olive trees I loved this one.
The settlers came, they beat us black and blue.
They said, Next time we shoot you. Understand?
But still we dared to come, we had no choice.
We came at night like thieves to our own land.
Like ghosts we came, men, women, young and old
To pick the crop as we have always done.
For centuries we harvested in peace
The oil we pressed was sweet, precious as gold.
Now look. This is a cemetery for trees.
Their great machines crushed hope into despair
They ripped the heart from every living tree
Except for one, my tree they chose to spare.
They dug it up, they smuggled it away
This ancient tree, they saw it as a prize
For some Israeli rich enough to pay
Five thousand dollars' worth, that's what they say.
Do you believe in ghosts? Last night I dreamed
My father's father's father came to me
He took my hand and held it in his own
And said, Take heart, here is my olive tree.
And when I woke it was a kind of birth
And in my hand I found an olive stone
And in the field where once my tree had been
A thousand shapes arose out of the earth.
I saw their faces, women, children, men
And each hand held a perfect olive stone
And each heart held a vision of to come
When all our olive trees will rise again.
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