A Portrait of Israeli Occupation of the West Bank: The Demolition of Houses   A citizen of my beloved town,                    Hamza is the name of a man,                      His bread is mixed with toil and sweat, Simple, brave, and straight   ****   When once, depressed, I sought a way,    As then defeat could lead astray,       "Stand firm, be proud," to me said he,  "For faith, I feel, I have in thee."   ****   "This soil is plagued with criminal hate,  Is shrunk by sorrow, and stilled by fate, Yet soon will throb with joyful strife,    For this, our earth, is a fount of life."   ****   "A woman’s womb this earth is like,     The seeds of life in furrows spark,       Ears of corn, erect with pride,               Men of courage, to death they stride"   ****   Many days and nights, my cousin, passed, With awe, I felt our soil is jammed,            New roots, new stirs. With joy I cried:     "Our earth is now a nine-month bride".   ****   The five and sixty years that dwell           In his soul were dry and pale,                   When the tyrant so declared,                   "Do make his house no more be there".    ****   "And in jail his son will stay,                   He’ll be tortured, and die he may".              All this the tyrant said with ease,               And went to play the records of peace.      ****   Like a snake, the despot’s men,            With skill, encircled Hamza`s den.             "Leave your home, "the oders yell,            "Leave your home and go to hell".   ****   But before the house he left,                       In praise of God, his voice he sent: "Palestine, my motherland,                 Proud of us you always stand.   ****   The house, my sons are yours and I,            For you we live, for you we die".              The spine of town echoed his calls,             While fateful silence marked the walls.    ****   The martyred rooms rose and fell,              The heaps of stones of memories tell,         The toil, the warmth, the tears that were,    The dreams,the laughs, no more were there   ****   Yesterday, my cousin I saw,                      His faith in life did even grow,                   His steadfastness spoke so loud,             Hamza, still, is brave and proud     1970 * This poem is an English translation of the Arabic original by the Palestinian Poet "Fadwa Touqan". Hamza, whose villa was demolished by the Israeli Occupation Authorities when his son joined the Resistance, is a cousin of the poet.