Beneath the rain, where dreams are torn,
Palestine’s heart beats, weary and worn.

Through fields of pain, where shadows creep,
The children of hope still dare to sleep.

The olive tree whispers, steadfast and strong,
Its roots hold stories of ages long.

The land endures each tear and cry,
Under the watch of a darkened sky.

The echoes of laughter, though faint and low,
Remind the world of the seeds they sow.

Through rubble and ruin, they walk with grace,
A steadfast hope no force can erase.

The moon bears witness, the stars align,
Guiding the prayers of Palestine.

For every tear that wets the sand,
A promise blooms to reclaim the land.

Oh Palestine, your soul won’t yield,
Through every battle, your fate is sealed.

Your children will rise, your voice will soar,
Peace will return to your sacred shore.

Though storms may batter, and nights grow long,
Your heart beats steady, your spirit strong.

Shelters collapse, but spirits don’t fade,
Freedom’s resolve in every soul laid.

The olive tree stands, though battered and bruised,
A symbol of strength no war can abuse.

In shadows of walls, they build their song,
For justice and peace to right the wrong.

Oh Palestine, your story will rise,
Written in stars and boundless skies.

Upon my hand, the mint tea spilled and burned,
In flames and pain, my love to ash was turned.
I watched the scar, the rising smoke and flame,
And wondered why such harm from love became.

How fiercely can the things we cherish sting—
This bitter truth that hurtful moments bring.
That day, I mourned a sorrow deep and wide:
The tea I loved held no love to confide.

How strange it seems that still my heart should yearn,
For those beside me, whom I seek, and spurn.

I ask of them from those who cross my sight,
Though they walk with me, like shadows in the light.

My eyes pursue them, though they're close at hand,
As if their nearness slips like grains of sand.

They dwell within the blackness of my eyes,
Yet still, in longing, every heartbeat sighs.

My heart aches for them, though they're near to stay,
So close to my ribs, yet they drift away.

In every breath, their absence burns anew,
They are my presence, yet I bid adieu.

What spell bewitches so the soul to pine,
For company that's here, yet lost in time?

Within my core, their essence does reside,
Yet longing forms, an ache I cannot hide.

Strange fate! To feel such yearning’s endless plight,
To hold them close, yet miss them out of sight.

For though their presence graces my embrace,
My soul still chases what it cannot trace.

Through trials fierce, the world did test my soul,
Denied me joy that others find as whole.

Life stood against me, fierce and ever cold,
And burdens deep on fragile shoulders rolled.

I’ve seen betrayal, hate, and envy’s fire,
Yet still, I stand, though weary and so dire.

With strength unbending, though my choices failed,
I fought for kindness, though none prevailed.

Each hope I breathed, life crushed with ruthless hand,
But I press on, though storms don’t heed my stand.

I pray for peace, for rest in days to come,
For blessings true to ease what I've become.

Some people you meet just once, but in your heart they stay,
While others, every time you see, seem strangers day by day.

Some take, and others leave behind, a part or piece of you,
And some, with fleeting hours shared, leave memories deep and true.

Some friendships only bring you pain, though brief they seem to last,
And others, though just days apart, feel like the world has passed.

For things, some people sell their souls, without a second thought,
And some would trade away their years for moments dearly sought.

Some eyes reflect a pure embrace, like rivers calm and clear,
While others seem like distant lands, where kindness won't appear.

Some eyes are filled with quiet grief, some warm like hearth and home,
And some can pierce into your soul, though they've not stayed or roamed.

Some people glow in colors bright, while others hide their pain,
Some live in black and white, while others just seek shelter from the rain.

And those you trust the most, it seems, can hurt you deep within,
Yet, when you're far from them, with ease, they lift you from your sin.

In eighteen hundred seventy-two, one day,
A girl in New York’s streets, lost, made her way.

With clothes of mud, she spoke in French, distressed,
The crowd did try, yet none her mind addressed.

Her memory was gone, she knew no name,
A soul adrift in grief and silent shame.

A charity, French-born, helped her regain,
Her health, her past, and eased her heavy pain.

The daughter of a man of great renown,
Victor Hugo, whose fame had spread through town.

Her tale would break her father’s heart in two,
As she, for fifteen years, in exile grew.

Beside him on an isle so far from home,
They shared their days beneath the British dome.

But love misled her fragile heart’s pure core,
For Alfred, whom she followed shore to shore.

A British soldier, cruel, with heart untrue,
She crossed the seas for him, but sorrow grew.

In Nova Scotia’s lands, she chased his flight,
He drained her wealth, then vanished from her sight.

With no one left, no friend nor coin to hold,
She wandered, broke, in New York’s streets, so cold.

Returned to France, her spirit crushed and low,
Her silent vow from lips no word would flow.

For forty years, from heartache never free,
She spoke no more—no sound, no voice, no plea.

Her father tried to mend her shattered will,
But silence ruled her days, her nights grew still.

Her record stands, the longest silent vow,
In human lore, no voice will break it now.

Beware, O man, the hearts that break in pain,
For shattered souls may never speak again.