By Ramzy Baroud 
The invaders will not enter our home,
They will not meddle with our old clothes,
They will not break my mother’s picture frame,
They will not tear our Quran, our Bible,
Nor spill our oil over our flour.
No, the invaders will not enter our home.
That night, I saw my grandfather,
His hands gently caressing the earth
Around a small olive tree.
He promised its oil would light the sky of Palestine
For a thousand years.
“Did the invaders enter our home?”
He asked.
I said: No.
But that morning, the invaders came—
A cold, bitter wind.
Their skins bore the marks of distant tribes,
Their tongues spoke words I could not understand.
I moved forward, just a step or two,
And shouted at them:
“You shall not enter our home.”
But they did not turn.
Their eyes, like shadows,
Their words, like restless winds.
They passed me by,
But my voice remained,
Screaming in the walls,
Screaming in the earth:
The invaders will not enter our home.
When the invaders left,
The house was shrouded in smoke.
My grandfather’s grave desecrated,
Its sacred stones defiled with foreign words.
My mother’s frame lay shattered,
Splintered into a thousand pieces.
My memories, and all of those who made them,
Had perished.
But the olive tree remained.
It grew stronger,
Its roots reaching deeper into the earth.
Its oil lit the sky—
For a thousand years.
– Ramzy Baroud is a journalist and the Editor of The Palestine Chronicle. He is the author of six books. His latest book, co-edited with Ilan Pappé, is “Our Vision for Liberation: Engaged Palestinian Leaders and Intellectuals Speak out”. Dr. Baroud is a Non-resident Senior Research Fellow at the Center for Islam and Global Affairs (CIGA). His website is www.ramzybaroud.net
