O daughter of the 48 goodbye

I can not find out how to call you, so I left the silence to call you.. Old woman.. Sixty years and you lit the fire to cook for your sons.. Arabs are dead.. and after a few.. I will celebrate! But since I celebrated the day, drinking a toast.. I promise you.. I walk in the funeral and candles were lit to illuminate the darkness of the Tomb.. you will be beautiful after death.. not like the whole beautiful.. but more beautiful..

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How I love you dead! I was soon addressed memory when announcing your presence duffer and smart at the same time, guest on the table for orphans and children of guests at the table to steal.. I was saddened to come and joy.

But today I am delighted and sadness waited yard river waiting for the collapse of the bridge in order to reflect its unfair! death and dying shortly sisters..

O daughter of the 48 goodbye .. nothing is left to be said.. would not stand in tears.. You are not “you”, home is not “home” .. Suspended wounded in the panel are correct camps on the walls of our history dating migration.. migration of the city and the emigration of the Diaspora.

If asked to Palestinian refugees: How you are? Said: Born funded Catastrophe year .. On the anniversary of Nakba Day.. On this day Israel was born and died Arabs ..