The Palestinian Elections

We are here ancestor’s land after years fate wait checkpoint lines raise questions about names faces on i.ds.

Lives behind chain fences and razor wires jade anticipation, but Hope is a moon dance with sun clouds across the sky, where stars burn past lives like keys in breast pockets, warm body heat.

Blood runs deep, molds tongues Arabic conversations Palestinian way to Brighter days, when air and water are free like seagulls feet track beaches, trace sands with beak prints on Sheets of paper list candidates who seek votes on campaign trails.

Generations reveal visions of white doves on olive branches breathe life among Election lines where hands hold ballots at the polls.

Foot traffic carries voices in the journey to ballot boxes overflown with votes cast – and signed with seeds of grace.

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