As I walk by the shore where my forefathers stood
And look out on the sand and the sea,
My blood starts to churn with injustice and rage
As I see what was taken from me.
The gardens of Gaza, once vibrant and green
A collection of splendid oases,
Now lie choked and smothered in blankets of ash
And obscured from the world’s staring faces.
For in days of confusion, when visions were blurred
Each man doing what seemed right in his eyes,
The great western powers upon us bore down
And the land from our hands did they prise.
Now days red with slaughter, destruction and blood
Endless nights black with pain and despair,
Are the fate of the many imprisoned within
And the Jews who were exiled from there.
Yes, exiled! Exiled! In our own land!
How can we sustain this injustice?
How mere politician and miserable words
Did we ever permit to divert us?
For not from strange lands were we made to withdraw
Not some foreigner’s farm or leased field,
But our forefather’s soil, the portion of Judah
Did we choose to sinfully yield.
Well no longer, I say, for not one minute more!
Shall we live in our country as slaves
To the powers dictating our state’s every move
And conforming us all to their ways.
For just as the land was conquered by sword
So shall we walk again on our soil,
Then the ashes we’ll plough back into the earth
And new life will arise from our toil.
The residents there? They will welcome us back!
When released from their anguish and trouble,
As we topple the tyrants embittering their lives
And begin to rebuild from the rubble.
In these days of the state for not one minute more
Shall we sit in our country and cower,
But we’ll storm through the gates and take back what is ours
And the gardens of Gaza will flower.
