A Country in Colour, People in Pain

Palestine was a colour on the map.

Easy to find in a textbook's lap.

A green strip drawn between the lines,

A small shape where the seashore shines.

The teacher asked the students there

To learn its place with thoughtful care.

They drew it, coloured it, wrote its name,

And memorized it for the exam.

But it wasn't a colour on television's screen;

It was smoke where homes had been.

It was shattered walls and broken rooms.

Dust-filled streets and silent gloom.

It was fallen stones on books once read.

And dreams abandoned, hope unfed.

One student opened a book and said,

"Sir, is this colour where children tread?"

The teacher looked from the map to the screen.

Wondering what the colour could mean.

He tried to answer, but words fell apart.

Maps show borders, not a child's heart.

It is easy to name a country or place.

But harder to measure a young life's pain.

The classroom grew silent, still as the air.

And even the blackboard had nothing to share.

Only the map remained spread wide.

With its colour resting quietly inside.

The colour was there for all to see.

Yet hidden were the children who longed to be free...

The colour was there for all to see,

Yet hidden were the children who longed to be free...

Within that colour far away,

Living, dreaming, day by day.