we are not numbers
emerging writers from Palestine tell their stories and advocate for their human rights
As I sip my mint tea one evening, I muse about how Palestinians are seen in the world.
Sitting on my balcony,
I look into the dark city,
close my eyes,
and relax my shoulders.
I tell myself,
hold your head high.
Smile and breathe in
the vapor of your mint tea.
Keep your heart open,
and sing with the goldfinches.
Ignore the names:
antisemitic,
terrorist,
Arab.
Look at your hands.
There is no blood.
Sing!
