Working day and night you build mountains of paper,
and then at a hard punch by arrogant Sharon
your room and hillock crumble down,
and they dissolve into their air
like so many pieces of torn paper.
Can you tell me, O UN, how much more blood
will the Palestinians have to give
to get back their last motherland?
How many more genocides will have to be
How long more will this desert land
have to wail in distress?
How long more will human killings have to go on
in afflicted Palestine?
How many more Arab children have to be sacrificed
at the altar of the west to appease its blind gods?
Tell me, O UN, how long more will the expelled Arabs
have to wander like bewildered people
with the chimerical charter of peace
hung around their necks?
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