My liberty was stolen
Even before I was born.
I look to the left and right;
All I can see are walls and guns.
My mom told me,
"Your grandfather came from Beersheba."
Where? I have never been there.
All I have are stories
And pictures.

I grew up inside walls,
With days swinging
Between love, death, fun and wars.
Hope is a bird stuck to my window,
Small and cold.
A fluttering desire to go, to travel, to see my home.

A new announcement broke the wings of my bird.
"Jerusalem is no longer yours."
I hold his wings to my heart
And pray.