Laila Darwishi
The daughter of my country,
The girl in my classroom, on my streets,
Is awake and ready for her fight.
When you call her weak,
When you call her a victim,
You’ve only seen one side of the coin.
Her dark hair is the robe
That hangs the clowns who attempt to halt her.
Her hands: fire on those who plot against her.
She plants tulips on her land
Despite a thousand year old hatred in her heart.
With pride and love,
With joy and wisdom,
She gives life a taste of justice and freedom.
—
Feature image courtesy of Rada Akbar.
Read this poem in Persian here. and share it with your friends. Thank you!