Al-Aqsa is in my heart
and the settlers
rip the fibres apart to
chant death threats
to my hollow chambers.
If I do not survive
to see the cerulean grief
in the domes of my heart
morph into the liberation of a country
between the river and the sea,
remind my progeny from the narratives of prophecy;
Pharoah thought he was god
but my God split the sea for the believers
and drowned the enemy
so remind the oppressors that
God is not with them.
Tell my lineage that His Justice
is all-encompassing
and that His,
is not an Abode for the hopeless.
Tell my progeny to not trust the historians
that weave baseless stories
with a golden thread
that fails to cover the blood
on their hands
but to find the poets
who have encrypted their valor
in the ink flowing in their vessels.
Tell my progeny to never lose Faith
in His Wisdom because the
wrongdoers will suffer
in an infinite time-loop
and By His Will, we will witness
the miracle of His Mercy
and the wreckage caused by His wrath.

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