.. My son asked me.. Muhammad Sharaf al-Din .. ابني سألني.. بقلم.. محمد شرف الدين

My son asked me. My son asked me and said, “My father, this is not my land and my grandfather’s land.” I replied and said, “Yes, my son. You are an Arab and your father is an Arab.” He replied and said, “Where are our brothers? Why don’t they come to defend us?” I said, “My son, why do you embarrass me? Your question is difficult and makes me laugh.” He said, “Where are our brothers? Why are we silent about those who have wronged us?” I said, “These people live in poverty.” Bliss and they forgot us and they forgot Palestine, but with us is the Lord of the Worlds, hearing our prayers and millions, my son asked me, words of Muhammad Sharaf al-Din 

إبني سألني 

إبني سألني

وقال يا والدي

مش دي أرضي

وأرض جدي

رديت وقلت

أيوه يا إبني

إنت عربي

وأبوك عربي

رد وقال 

فين إخوانا

ليه ماجوش

يدافعوا عنا

قلت يا إبني

ليه تحرجني

سؤالك صعب 

وبيدبحني

قالي فين

فين إخوانا

وليه ساكتين

ع اللي ظلمنا

قلت دول

عايشين ف نعيم

ونسيونا ونسيوا

فلسطين

لكن معانا

رب العالمين 

سامع دعانا

والملايين

                 إبني سألني

        كلمات محمد شرف الدين

I am Palestine, I am Palestine, I am crying and I am all groaning. I am crying with tears in my eyes and tears on my cheeks. Where are you, Muslims? Where are you, Muslims? Where are you, Muslims? My wound inside is bleeding. Inside is wounds and abrasions. I say, “May God be gracious and to the Creator.” But I scream, I scream at the top of my voice, and I am tired of screaming. Where have my homes gone? They destroyed them a little. That’s it. You’ve sacrificed me. You will be the cause of my death and my torment. I am fed up and tired of my silence. I am Palestine. I am crying and I am full of myself. I am crying with tears in my eyes and tears on my cheeks. Where are you, O Muslims? Where are you, O Muslims? What are you, O Muslims? I am Palestine. Words of Muhammad Sharaf al-Din 

أنا فلسطين 

أنا أنا فلسطين

ببكي وكلي آنيين

ببكي بدمع العين

ودموعي ع الخدين

فينكم يا مسلمين

فينكم يا مسلمين

فينكم يا مسلمين

جرحي جوايه بينزف

جوايه جروح وجروح

وبقول الله يلطف 

وللخالق بس ببوح

بصرخ بأعلى صوتي

وتعبت من الصراخ

فين راحت بيوتي 

دمروها شويه أوباش

خلاص ضحيتوا بيا

هتكونوا سبب موتي

ولا عذابي غيه

مليت وتعبني سكوتي

أنا أنا فلسطين

ببكي وكلي آنيين

ببكي بدمع العين

ودموعي ع الخدين

فينكم يا مسلمين

فينكم يا مسلمين

فينكم يا مسلمين

    

                 أنا فلسطين

         كلمات محمد شرف الدين

I am ashamed, where is the chivalry, men? The drums of war are beating at the door. Are there no heroes among you? The Prophet is an Arab, and we are Bedouins. I am ashamed of my Arabism. Where is my dignity and my pride? Can’t you hear my screams, while the enemy is destroying my town, erasing my history and my identity? Don’t you see what is happening? Don’t you see? Don’t you see an unjust enemy? Your assault on my honor. How can you disgrace a helpless person? My words are to express, so where are you, brothers, Palestine calls out to God is Great, where is chivalry, where is loyalty, where is Amr, Omar, and Othman, where is Salah al-Din. Don’t you feel chills? Don’t you hear screams and groans? I am ashamed of my Arabism. Where is my dignity and pride? Don’t you hear my screams, and the enemy is destroying my town, erasing my history and identity, I am ashamed of words. Muhammad Sharaf Al-Din 

أخجل أنا 

أين الشهامة يا رجال

دقت طبول الحرب الباب

ألا يوجد بينكم أبطال

النبي عربي ونحن أعراب 

أخجل أنا من عروبتي

أين الكرامة وعزتي

آلا تسمعون صرختي

والعدو يدمر بلدتي

يمحو تاريخي وهويتي

ألا ترون ماذا يجري

آلا ترون آلا ترون

عدو ظالم هتك عرضي

كيف للعار تستلزون

عاجزة كلماتي أن تعبر 

فأين أنتم أيها أشقاء

فلسطين تنادى الله أكبر

أين الشهامة أين الوفاء

أين عمرو وعمر وعثمان 

أين أين صلاح الدين 

آلا تقشعر لكم أبدان

ألا تسمعون صراخ وأنين

أخجل أنا من عروبتي

أين الكرامة وعزتي

آلا تسمعون صرختي

والعدو يدمر بلدتي

يمحو تاريخي وهويتي

               أخجل أنا

   كلمات محمد شرف الدين

I am Palestine, I am Palestine, I am crying and I am all groaning. I am crying with tears in my eyes and tears on my cheeks. Where are you, Muslims? Where are you, Muslims? Where are you, Muslims? My wound inside is bleeding. Inside is wounds and abrasions. I say, “May God be gracious and to the Creator.” But I scream, I scream at the top of my voice, and I am tired of screaming. Where have my homes gone? They destroyed them a little. That’s it. You’ve sacrificed me. You will be the cause of my death and my torment. I am fed up and tired of my silence. I am Palestine. I am crying and I am full of myself. I am crying with tears in my eyes and tears on my cheeks. Where are you, O Muslims? Where are you, O Muslims? What are you, O Muslims? I am Palestine. Words of Muhammad Sharaf al-Din 

أنا فلسطين 

أنا أنا فلسطين

ببكي وكلي آنيين

ببكي بدمع العين

ودموعي ع الخدين

فينكم يا مسلمين

فينكم يا مسلمين

فينكم يا مسلمين

جرحي جوايه بينزف

جوايه جروح وجروح

وبقول الله يلطف 

وللخالق بس ببوح

بصرخ بأعلى صوتي

وتعبت من الصراخ

فين راحت بيوتي 

دمروها شويه أوباش

خلاص ضحيتوا بيا

هتكونوا سبب موتي

ولا عذابي غيه

مليت وتعبني سكوتي

أنا أنا فلسطين

ببكي وكلي آنيين

ببكي بدمع العين

ودموعي ع الخدين

فينكم يا مسلمين

فينكم يا مسلمين

فينكم يا مسلمين

    

                 أنا فلسطين

         كلمات محمد شرف الدين

أخجل أنا 

أين الشهامة يا رجال

دقت طبول الحرب الباب

ألا يوجد بينكم أبطال

النبي عربي ونحن أعراب 

أخجل أنا من عروبتي

أين الكرامة وعزتي

آلا تسمعون صرختي

والعدو يدمر بلدتي

يمحو تاريخي وهويتي

ألا ترون ماذا يجري

آلا ترون آلا ترون

عدو ظالم هتك عرضي

كيف للعار تستلزون

عاجزة كلماتي أن تعبر 

فأين أنتم أيها أشقاء

فلسطين تنادى الله أكبر

أين الشهامة أين الوفاء

أين عمرو وعمر وعثمان 

أين أين صلاح الدين 

آلا تقشعر لكم أبدان

ألا تسمعون صراخ وأنين

أخجل أنا من عروبتي

أين الكرامة وعزتي

آلا تسمعون صرختي

والعدو يدمر بلدتي

يمحو تاريخي وهويتي

               أخجل أنا

   كلمات محمد شرف الدين

I am ashamed, where is the chivalry, men? The drums of war are beating at the door. Are there no heroes among you? The Prophet is an Arab, and we are Bedouins. I am ashamed of my Arabism. Where is my dignity and my pride? Can’t you hear my screams, while the enemy is destroying my town, erasing my history and my identity? Don’t you see what is happening? Don’t you see? Don’t you see an unjust enemy? Your assault on my honor. How can you disgrace a helpless person? My words are to express, so where are you, brothers, Palestine calls out to God is Great, where is chivalry, where is loyalty, where is Amr, Omar, and Othman, where is Salah al-Din. Don’t you feel chills? Don’t you hear screams and groans? I am ashamed of my Arabism. Where is my dignity and pride? Don’t you hear my screams, and the enemy is destroying my town, erasing my history and identity, I am ashamed of words. Muhammad Sharaf Al-Din 

.. Gaza will not die... written by the poet. Dr.. Ibrahim cloth.. غزه لن تموت بقلم.. الشاعر. د. إبراهيم القماش

Gaza will not die. You hit me with cannons. You bomb me with planes. I will continue to resist and defend Gaza until I die. You will never accuse me of my life. After you destroyed my house, and after you killed my father, my mother, my family, and my neighbors. What else is there, after my olives and neighbors, and the displacement, wounded and forced, and genocide... and the buildings will remain the stones of the houses, cursing the actions of the oppressors? Where are those who went too far in tyranny, Gaza, the pride? She will not die, steadfast, proud, strong, iron, her land irrigated by the blood of the martyr, she throws away 100 million resistors, and the flood strengthens and increases Dr. 

Ibrahim cloth 

غزة لن  تموت

تضربوني    بالمدافع

تقصفوني  بالطيارات

هفضل اقاوم  وادافع

عن غزة حتى الممات

متهمنيش ابدا  حياتي

بعد   ما دمرتوا   بيتي

وبعد ما قتلتوا    ابويا

وامي واهلي وجيراني

لسه  ايه  غير كدا تاني 

بعد زيتوني    وجيراني

و النزوح جريح ومجبر 

والابادة  ..      والمباني

هتفضل حجارة البيوت

تلعن افعال الص*ه*اينة

اللي تمادوا ف الجبروت

  غزة  العزة   . لن تموت

 صامدة ابية قوية حديد

 يروي ارضها  دم الشهيد

 تطرح ١٠٠  مليون مقاوم  

والطوفان  يقوي   ويزيد

د. ابراهيم القماش

.. Don't scream, Palestine.. Written by.. Ruba Rabai.. لاتصرخي يافلسطين.. بقلم.. ربا رباعي

Do not scream Palestine

. Tell them my Arabism. I am rebelling for you. Palestine. I swear that your wound, Palestine, is a pain that has lingered on the pulpits. I am playing a pain that has hidden the folds of pain and is witnessing a brokenness that has pushed away the tyranny of the enemy and wailed in defiance of the injustice that destroyed my land. Tell them, my letters, that I adore its water and its soil. This is Palestine.. despite the bleeding of its children, it has triumphed. ...Despite its wounds, Palestine will remain its banner of victory. Stop your tears, O Jerusalem, you are the light.. I watered your land with the blood of the martyrs. Do not cry for those who betrayed and do not think that injustice exists... You have become proud, O our glory, the Lord of beauty, sanctify us... You are the pride of our Arabism... Do not scream Palestine. Play and spread glory... O homeland of glory, four-fold interest لا تصرخي فلسطين

أخبريهم عروبتي

أني ثائر لاجلك فلسطين

أقسم أن جرحك فلسطين

وجعا طال فوق المنابر

أني اعزف ألما خبا طيات

الالم وبات يشهد كسرا

دفع طغيان العدى وناح

يستنكف ظلما دمر ارضي 

أخبريهم يا أحرفي أني

أعشق ماءها وترابها هذه

فلسطين..رغم نزيف ابنائها

انتصرت....ورغم جراحها

ستبقى فلسطين رايه النصر

كفكفي دموعك يا قدس فأنت

النور..سقيت أرضك بدم الشهداء

لا تبكي من خان ولاتحسبن الظلم

قائم...   اضحيت فخرا يا عزنا

رب الجمال قدسنا...انت الفخر

لعروبتنا ...لا تصرخي فلسطين

 اعزفي وانثري العز ...يا وطن المجد

 ربا رباعي

Palestine chants, my heart sings whenever I mention it, that I am happier, even if I stray from a place, I rest in the same place, I feel comfortable with it, I forget my fatigue and worry, and I become in His proximity to Him, I taste the pleasure of life and I sing of His glory. This is my homeland. I reach in His love the price of the universe, and I have love. I live without fear. This is my dwelling in Him. I am enriched and rejoiced.. I take pleasure in His dwelling. I follow his shadow and in the embrace of his Lord, my heart is refreshed and he laughs. He is my homeland... I yearn for the look of his breach and the smile of his glory... I took refuge under his protection to the Almighty. If only the days of his glory were counted as glory. We had a dwelling place of hopes and pride. Gaza... the world of Arabism.. Here is my heart aching with my dreams forged of happiness. You are my homeland despite the collapse of my hopes.. Oh my Lord, I recognize the arrows of the perpetrator. Your destiny is great. Gaza... I sip the glory.. Oh the melody of eternity... Embrace the song of hope, O Malika Al-Rawabi... Gaza... Oh the homeland of Arabism.. You are my homeland And my borders.. My heart is refreshed by the proximity of the breeze of the soul, O my soul that is certain of the music of glory, O paradise of eternity... I swear by your love Palestine I will not be defeated by groaning Our Arabism You are Palestine Pride is a four-fold usury 

ترنمي فلسطين

يترنم فؤادي كلما ذكرته

أني أسعد وان ضللت مقاما

أستريح بعينه وأانس معه

وانسى تعبي والهم وأصبح

في قربه له أذق لذة الحياة

وأترنم بعزه هذا وطني اني

أبلغ في حبه ثمن الكون وأملك

حبا اعش دون فزع هذا سكني

به استغنى واطرب..انى أستلذ

بسكنه اني اتبع ظله وبأحضان

رباه ينتعش فؤادي ويضحك

إنه وطني...أتوق لنظرة ثغره

وبسمة عزه... لجأت بكنفه للعلا

الا ليت أيام مجده تعد عزا

كان لنا سكنى الأماني والفخر

غزه...دنيا العروبة..  

ها هو قلبي الموجوع بأحلامي

صاغ السعادة بك وطني 

رغم تهدم الأماني ..

يا ربي إني أدرك سهام الجاني

قدرك غزه عظيم ...انا نرتشف

العلا.. يا لحن الخلود ...

عانقي معزوفة الامل

يا مليكة الروابي...

غزة...يا وطن العروبة ..

انت وطني وحدودي..

إن فؤادي ينتعش

بقرب نسيم الروح يا روحي

المتيقنه بعزف المجد 

يا جنة الخلد...

أقسم بحبك فلسطين

أنا لن يهزمنا الأنين

عروبتنا انت فلسطين العز

ربا رباعي

A homeland whose estrangement is homeland, whose nearness the sounds of wishes have risen, and the roses have roared with pain over the grass for their appearance. The pulse of my heart is rejoicing and singing songs. I am sitting with the cracks of pains forced, and the wounds of life have become heavy, the paths of sorrows have cracked, and time has passed wandering. I have left the world and its pains, and I have to shake hands with the bleeding bridle of my estrangement, and sorrow is the frost of estrangement that bridles the sidewalks of oppression and is a cradle for the soul. Pain pleads, what is the matter with the conversations of our solitude, I have become lost from estrangement to my homeland. I declared the boredom of the pen, and I continued to complain about the smell of semen for my life. Your absence is my homeland. Pain has forced me.... I comfort myself, saying... Beware of disappointment, my homeland will remain, even if the pulse of my breath fades... We will always go to you and embrace Diya. The homeland is a quadruple usury 

غربه وطن 

يا من تعالت أصوات الامنيات بقربه

والورد ضج ألما فوق العشب لطلته

نبض فؤادي يمرح  وينشد القا

إني أجالس تصدع المواجع مرغما

وتثاقلت جراح الحياة وتصدعت

دروب الاحزان ومضى الزمان هائما

تركت الدنيا وآلامها ولزمت أصافح

نزف لجم غربتي والأسى

 صقيع غربة لجم أرصفة القهر

ومهد للنفس أن تناشد الالم

ما بال أحاديث لوعتنا باتت

شريدة من غربة لوطن

أني أعلنت ضجر القلم

ولبثت اشتكي ريح المنى

لعمري غيابك وطني

ألزمني الوجع....اسلي 

النفس قائلة...اياك والخذلان

سيبقى وطني وان ذبلت

نبضات أنفاسي...

سنمضي دوما اليك 

وسنعانق ضياء الوطن

ربا رباعي

I melody out of boredom in vain. I filled my dreams with hope as if they had vanished in my heart. In vain I drowned the light of wishes. The hallucinations of my thoughts became carved as ashes. And I demolished the soul of the words that were being read, an oppressive silence. I engrave the alphabet of my defeats on the strings of the melodies of the darkness, and I play with the desire of my heart, and I disappear, drawing my dreams, consoling myself with hopes that might tempt me with the effect of my pulsating sighs to the echo of nostalgia, and boredom, the imprisonment of the hoarseness of a voice that crossed, seeking permission from the tornado of my fading and pain...and our nights began to be filled with the glory of brown.. To forget memories that were in vain, like rain showers, and a melody blossomed from the boredom of usury. 

لحنا من ضجر

عبثا أغدق أحلامي رجاء

كأنها تلاشت في قلبي

عبثا غرقت ضياء الأماني 

إن هلوسات أفكاري أضحت

منحوتة كرماد.   وهدمت روح

كلمات كانت تقرأ صمت قهري

إني أنقش أبجدية هزائمي

على وتر ألحان الدجى

وأعزف بوح فؤادي

وأغيب رسم أحلامي

اعلل نفسي بالاامال علها

تغريني بأثير تنهيداتي

النابضه  لصدى حنين

والضجر حبس بحة صوت

عبرت تستميح إعصار 

ذبولي والألم...وراحت ليالينا

 تضج زهوا بالسمر...لتنسى ذكريات

عبثت كزخات غيث وأزهرت

لحنا من ضجر

ربا رباعي

Boredom of waiting, O you who proclaimed the boredom of waiting Whenever you flipped the masks of stillness, the lamps of survival touched you. You rearranged the melody of the past to draw the ashes of laughter. The days passed in joy and you told the moon not to stop rebelling when meeting souls. Our rhymes became joyful, the love of the tweeting of our winds. And our wounds became colored and turned, and our pulses became variegated. They forgot and were patient for every wailing woman exhausted by pain, and our pains became like a wounded bird that refused to fly and was satisfied with singing peace... Oh, whose voices rose, remember the wailing of groans over a homeland... Oh, I wish it had rebelled to embrace men’s oppression and hunger, wrapped in a homeland that was lost in pain and my ribs were bruised if Our mountaintops chirped, fluttering with their glory, and the echo of their highness bled with pain. Our Lord grew with our Arabism and danced in the face of falling death and oppression. They began to echo the rain of humiliation... Oh, the drops of patience that refreshed the soil of a homeland with fourfold usury. 

ضجر الانتظار

يا من أعلنت ضجر الانتظار 

كلما قلبت أقنعة السكون

لامستك مصابيح أنات البقاء

أعدت ترتيب لحن الماضي

ليرسم رماد ضحكات سامرت

الأيام طربا وأخبرت القمر

 الا ينفك تمردا بلقاء الأرواح

أمست قوافينا تطرب عشق

تغريد رياحينا....حارت سهام

الاشواق وجفت مآقينا

وصبغت ظمأ الأرواح وتلونت

جراحنا والتفت  أوردت نبضاتنا 

تناست وتصبرت   لكل نائحة 

انهكتها الآلام  وباتت أوجاعنا كالطير 

 الجريح يرفض أن يطير واكتفى

بانشاد السلام...يا من تعالت 

أصواتهم تذكر بوح الاهات

 على وطن...يا ليتها تمردت لتحتضن

قهر الرجال وجوع التف بوطن

تهت ألما  وتجلدت أضلاعي

إن  روابينا غردت خافقة بعزتها

وصدى عليائها نزف الألم 

ربانا كبرت بعروبتنا وتراقصت

بلقاء تساقط المنايا والقهر

باتت تردد غيث هوان...اه لقطرات

 التصبر الذي أنعش تراب وطن

ربا رباعي

.. No Santa Claus.. Written by.. Salah Ali Qutb Zahran .. لايابابا نويل بقلم.. صلاح علي قطب زهران

No, Santa Claus! How will you celebrate the New Year? Rather, how will you distribute sweets and gifts while the children of Palestine are among the dew naked? How will the church bells ring with supplication while the House of the Nativity is sad under siege and all around it is devastation and ruin, and the conscience of the world is sick with schizophrenia? O House of Christ, your helpers and loved ones have disgraced you and set injustice on fire at your door. How will you celebrate a new year when the hearts of the world are black and rusty? Iron, the sons of Zion, insulted you, desecrated the land of purity and wreaths of flowers, burned the olive fields, and killed the elders. And infants in huge graves, and the smile of a martyr with a thousand meanings. He is inside, that is paradise, and women in the arms of their children in the open. It is winter. How will the church bells ring in London and Paris? And the people of Palestine are trapped between the stinging winter. O world, how will we celebrate a new year? How will the church bells of New York and Washington ring? And blood is the artery of the river of Palestine. There is no celebration. Santa Claus this year by the writer and poet Salah Ali Qutb Zahran 

لا يا بابا نويل! 

كيف ستحتفل بالعام الجديد

بل كيف ستوزع الحلوى والهدايا

وأطفال فلسطين بين الطل عرايا

كيف ستدق اجراس الكنائس بالابتهال

وبيت المهد حزين بالحصار

وكل من حوله خراب وضمار

وضمير العالم  مريض بالانفصام

يابيت المسيح خزلوك  اعوانك واحبابك

واشعلوا الظلم نار على بابك كيف الاحتفال بعام جديد

وقلوب العالم اسود صداء الحديد

بنى صهيون اهانوك ودنسو ارض الطهارة

واكاليل الزهور

واحرقو حقول الزيتون

وقتلو الشيوخ. 

واطفال رضع مقابر جما

وابتسامة شهيد بالف معنة 

انه داخل اهو الجنة

والنساء  بين أحضان اطفالهم

فى الخلاء شتا

كيف ستدق اجراس الكنائس

 فى لندن وباريس

وشعب فلسطين  محاصر 

بين الشتاء القريص

ايها العالم كيف الاحتفال 

بعام جديد

كيف ستدق اجراس كنائس

 نيويورك وواشنطن

والدم شريان نهر فلسطين 

لا  احتفال يابابا نويل

هذا العام

للكاتب والشاعر صلاح على قطب زهران

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Arabic

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No, Santa Claus! How will you celebrate the New Year ? Rather, how will you distribute sweets and gifts while the children of Palestine are among the dew naked? How will the church bells ring with supplication while the House of the Nativity is sad under siege and all around it is devastation and ruin, and the conscience of the world is sick with schizophrenia ? O House of Christ, your helpers and loved ones have disgraced you and set injustice on fire at your door. How will you celebrate a new year when the hearts of the world are black and rusty ? Iron, the sons of Zion, insulted you, desecrated the land of purity and wreaths of flowers, burned the olive fields, and killed the elders. And infants in huge graves, and the smile of a martyr with a thousand meanings. He is inside, it is paradise, and women in the arms of their children in the open. It is winter. How will the church bells ring in London and Paris, and the people of Palestine are trapped between the stinging winter ? O world, how can we celebrate a new year ? How will the church bells of New York and Washington ring ? And blood is the artery of the river of Palestine. There is no celebration. Santa Claus this year by the writer and poet Salah Ali Qutb Zahran

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Translation from: Arabic

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758 / 5,000

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No, Santa Claus! How will you celebrate the New Year ? Rather, how will you distribute sweets and gifts and the children of Palestine among the dew naked? How will the school bells ring with supplication and the House of the Nativity with sadness under siege, and all around it is ruin and ruin, and the conscience of the world is sick with schizophrenia, O House of Christ, they have disgraced you, your helpers and your loved ones, and set injustice on fire at your door. How do they celebrate a new year when the hearts of the world are black with rust ? Iron, the sons of Zion, insulted you, desecrated the land of purity and wreaths of flowers, burned and consumed olives, and killed the elders. And infants, graves, Friday, and the smile of a martyr, the mouth is suffering inside. It is all paradise in the arms of their children in the open. Winter. How will the scholarship bells ring in London and Paris? And the people of Palestine are trapped between the stinging winter. O world, how to celebrate a new year. How will the bells ring? Be sad. New York and Washington . And blood is the artery of a river. Palestine: No Power, Santa Claus This Year, by the writer and poet Salah Ali Zahran

la ya baba nwyl! kayf satahtafil bialeam aljadid bal kayf satuazae alhalwaa walhadaya wa'atfal filastin bayn altali earaya kayf sataduqu ajiras aldirasat bialiabtihal wabayat almahd alhuzn bialhisar wakulun min hawlih kharab wawadamar wadamir alealam marid bialnafasam yabit almasih khazaluk e Awank wahbabuk washealuu alzulm nar ealaa babik kayf yahtafilun bieam jadid waqulub alealam Aswad sada' alhadid banaa sahyun ahanuk wadinsu ard altahara wakalyl alzuhur waharaqu yastahlik alzaytun waqutilu alshuyukhi. waitfal ridae maqabir jumea waibtisamat shahid alfam maeina dakhil anah ahw aljana bialkamil bayn 'ahdan atifalihim faa alkhala' shatana kayf sataduqu ajras alminah aldirasia faa landan wabaris washaeb filastin muhasar bayn fasl alshita' alqaris ayahuha alealam kayf lilaihtifal bieam jadid kayf sataduqu ajiras kun hazinan niuyurk wawashintun waldam shiryan nahr filastin the quat yababa nuil hadha aleam lilkatib walshaaeir salah ealaa zahran

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No, Santa Claus! How will you celebrate the New Year ? Rather, how will you distribute sweets and gifts while the children of Palestine are among the dew naked? How will the church bells ring with supplication while the House of the Nativity is sad under siege and all around it is devastation and ruin, and the conscience of the world is sick with schizophrenia ? O House of Christ, your helpers and loved ones have disgraced you and set injustice on fire at your door. How will you celebrate a new year when the hearts of the world are black and rusty ? Iron, the sons of Zion, insulted you, desecrated the land of purity and wreaths of flowers, burned the olive fields, and killed the elders. And infants in huge graves, and the smile of a martyr with a thousand meanings. He is inside, it is paradise, and women in the arms of their children in the open. It is winter. How will the church bells ring in London and Paris, and the people of Palestine are trapped between the stinging winter ? O world, how can we celebrate a new year ? How will the church bells of New York and Washington ring ? And blood is the artery of the river of Palestine. There is no celebration. Santa Claus this year by the writer and poet Salah Ali Qutb Zahran

auto_awesome

Translation from: Arabic

​

758 / 5,000

Translation results

Translation result

No, Santa Claus! How will you celebrate the New Year ? Rather, how will you distribute sweets and gifts and the children of Palestine among the dew naked? How will the school bells ring with supplication and the House of the Nativity with sadness under siege, and all around it is ruin and ruin, and the conscience of the world is sick with schizophrenia, O House of Christ, they have disgraced you, your helpers and your loved ones, and set injustice on fire at your door. How do they celebrate a new year when the hearts of the world are black with rust ? Iron, the sons of Zion, insulted you, desecrated the land of purity and wreaths of flowers, burned and consumed olives, and killed the elders. And infants, graves, Friday, and the smile of a martyr, the mouth is suffering inside. It is all paradise in the arms of their children in the open. Winter. How will the scholarship bells ring in London and Paris? And the people of Palestine are trapped between the stinging winter. O world, how to celebrate a new year. How will the bells ring? Be sad. New York and Washington . And blood is the artery of a river. Palestine: No Power, Santa Claus This Year, by the writer and poet Salah Ali Zahran

la ya baba nwyl! kayf satahtafil bialeam aljadid bal kayf satuazae alhalwaa walhadaya wa'atfal filastin bayn altali earaya kayf sataduqu ajiras aldirasat bialiabtihal wabayat almahd alhuzn bialhisar wakulun min hawlih kharab wawadamar wadamir alealam marid bialnafasam yabit almasih khazaluk e Awank wahbabuk washealuu alzulm nar ealaa babik kayf yahtafilun bieam jadid waqulub alealam Aswad sada' alhadid banaa sahyun ahanuk wadinsu ard altahara wakalyl alzuhur waharaqu yastahlik alzaytun waqutilu alshuyukhi. waitfal ridae maqabir jumea waibtisamat shahid alfam maeina dakhil anah ahw aljana bialkamil bayn 'ahdan atifalihim faa alkhala' shatana kayf sataduqu ajras alminah aldirasia faa landan wabaris washaeb filastin muhasar bayn fasl alshita' alqaris ayahuha alealam kayf lilaihtifal bieam jadid kayf sataduqu ajiras kun hazinan niuyurk wawashintun waldam shiryan nahr filastin the quat yababa nuil hadha aleam lilkatib walshaaeir salah ealaa zahran

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