In the heart of olive groves, they stand,
Children of the storied land—
Palestine, with cries that pierce the day,
Voices strong in the fray.
Angels clad in mortal guise,
In the echoes of their cries,
Teaching us the weight of chains,
The boundless strength that freedom gains.
Brave souls in relentless clasp,
With each breath, a collective gasp,
Heroes born from strife and pain,
In their courage, they remain.
Shame on us, the distant kin,
Wrapped in our world, thin of skin,
Praying for rates to dip and dive,
While for mere existence they strive.
Market dreams and glossy screens,
Pale against their basic means,
A life of choice, a chance to thrive,
Not just survive but truly alive.
These angels walk the hallowed ground,
Where echoes of justice sound,
A lesson taught to you and me,
What it truly means to be free.
So, pause and heed their valiant call,
A plea for freedom, resonant for all,
Their struggle not just theirs to bear,
A call to awaken, be aware.
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