I am an Arab And my identity card is number fifty thousand I have eight children And the ninth is coming after a summer Will you be angry?
Record! I am an Arab Employed with fellow workers at a quarry I have eight children I get them bread Garments and books from the rocks.. I do not supplicate charity at your doors Nor do I belittle myself at the footsteps of your chamber So will you be angry?
Record! I am an Arab I have a name without a title Patient in a country
Where people are enraged My roots Were entrenched before the birth of time And before the opening of the eras Before the pines, and the olive trees And before the grass grew My father.. descends from the family of the plow Not from a privileged class And my grandfather..was a farmer Neither well-bred, nor well-born! Teaches me the pride of the sun Before teaching me how to read And my house is like a watchman's hut Made of branches and cane Are you satisfied with my status? I have a name without a title!
Record! I am an Arab You have stolen the orchards of my ancestors And the land which I cultivated Along with my children And you left nothing for us Except for these rocks.. So will the State take them As it has been said?! Therefore!
Record on the top of the first page: I do not hate people Nor do I encroach But if I become hungry The usurper's flesh will be my food Beware.. Beware.. Of my hunger
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