Diarmuid Breatnach

(Ireland, Palestine)

Here, the leaves are dying,

There, the people are dying;

Here, the leaves are falling,

There, the bombs are falling.

Here it is the turn of season,

There, genocide’s the only reason.

The tree seems as though it died

It is not dead but now asleep;

Retreated to its living roots

Underground stretched down deep.

In the Spring new buds we’ll see;

It is not easy to kill a tree.

Hard to kill a people too

As they rise up to resist anew.

November 2023