Our people's suffering is silent.
No one hears our suffering.
No one hears our children's cries.
No one hears our mothers' cries.
No one hears our mothers' mourning their children.
They only hear the stones.
We are invisible in our suffering.
We are invisible in our pain.
We are invisible in our death.
Our suffering is invisible.
Our pain is invisible.
Our death is invisible.
But every one sees our stones. Our stones are not invisible.
Our rage is silent.
No one hears our rage.
Our fears are silent.
No one feels our fears.
Our mothers are silent.
The stones are not silent.
Our children are not silent any more.
Our children grow hard and they die hard.
Our children are fed up with silent death.
They are fed up with silent cries.
They are fed up with cries for justice.
Silent justice died with the thousands of freedom martyrs.
Silent justice died a thousand times with Mohammad Durra.
Silent justice died a thousand times with every child martyr.
There is no silent justice any more.
Justice is not a free bird any more.
Justice is a thousand Thorne birds.
Justice is a sling shot in the hands of our children.
Our children like stones because every one sees them.
Our children like stones because every one hears them.
Our children like stones because every one feels them.
Mothers, plant a stone in your children's hair when you comb them every
morning.
Mothers, plant a stone in your children's lunch boxes every day.
Mothers, give your children stones for their daily allowance.
The nearer the dawn, the darker the night.
Freedom is like the early morning bird,
which starts to sing as it feels the light of the day.
Our people are morning birds.
They sing when they feel the light of the day.
They feel the dawn is coming, and they sing loud beautiful tunes.
Our rage is not silent any more, even if they can not hear it.
Beware our children's lunch boxes.
Beware our children's black hair.
Beware our morning birds.
Beware our children singing in the morning.
Beware our children when they taste freedom,
for there is no stopping until the birds of Jerusalem sings again.
Our birds of flesh will defeat your birds of steel.
Our birds of love and hope will defeat your birds of fire and hate.
Our birds singing in Arabic will defeat your hateful foreign settlers.
Our birds over Palestine are birds of hope and light,
chasing the sunshine rays of our land,
chasing butterflies over our olive fields,
singing love tunes for our land,
dancing with joy and hopes of freedom,
painting the skies with their beautiful bright colors,
flying ever so high to see the land from sea to sea.
Beware our children's rage.
Beware our children's stones.
Beware the scream of our butterflies.
Mohammad Chehab
