HEBRON

I yearn to the starry nights of your grape-vine fields on a summer night.

Once we were children and walked all over your hilly plains. 

Like fools we walked on for hours:

    No buses,

          No cars,

                   No bicycles,

    But walked on foot anxious and eager to reach to your sweet grapes,

          And your plum trees

                             And fig trees. 

We were young and restless.

    We were young and foolish.

          We thought of nothing but the moment.

                   We wanted to run from home to the warmth of your fields,

                                      And we did.

How beautiful that was! 

The rocky and rugged mountains, a picture that remains in my mind.

The days of bird watching and listening to the Al-Hassoon chirp

    Sent us to a deep ecstasy. 

Then we saw no soldiers,

    No guns,

          No military jeeps,

                  

Hebron, I am as foolish today as when I was ten: 

    I miss your grape-vine fields.

          I miss your fig trees

                   I miss your afternoon breeze

Now your fields are filled with smoke.

Al-Hassoon no longer chirps,

    And has left frightened by the blast.

The grapes are bitter and sour

    For they have not seen the sun of freedom

And the stars waned

    For their light was subdued by injustice