“Olive and Friendship Over Gaza’s Land”: Special Poetry Collection (PPIPM-Indonesia, Poetry-Pen IC, Indonesian Writers of Satu Pena, Indonesian Creators of AI Era)

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Olive and Friendship Over Gaza’s Land

Poem by Leni Marlina

[Poetry Community of Indonesian Society’s Inspiration: PPIPM – Indonesia, Poetry-Pen IC, Indonesian Writer of Satu Pena, Indonesia Creator of AI Era, FSM, ACC SHILA]

<1>

Prayers flow, washing away the dust,
on wounded lands marked by the barefoot tracks of children.
Gaza’s sky, heavy with grief, cradles sobs,
while ancient olives, bloodied and steadfast, stand amidst ruins.

“Peace be upon you,” whispers the bullet, shattering silence,
shaking branches once shaded with kindness,
now stretched, gripping rubble and tears.

The past is still vivid,
when this land sang with the olive groves.
Its fruits shimmered like tiny lanterns,
illuminating beneath Palestine’s moon.
Now, only the stench of gunpowder colors the air.

<2>

And so,
the tree remains firm,
its roots crushed by cracked concrete,
its leaves wet with human blood.

We once sat beneath its shade,
savoring its salty fruit,
watching sunsets now cloaked in black smoke.
The eternal olive tree whispers still,
amidst the whizz of bullets:
“Do not stop. Do not surrender.”

Gaza’s story etches itself into its trunk,
its wounds narrating humanity’s sorrow,
bringing tears to souls across the earth.
And its oil,
drips like unending tears.

<3>

So stand tall,
though surrounded by ruins,
though this land is soaked in endless grief.
The olive knows:
Friendship is not born of despair
but of unceasing prayers.

It is only this friendship
I wish to offer you, Gaza, Palestine,
like the olive tree—
rooted in earth,
but dreaming of heaven.

Padang, West Sumatra
Indonesia, 2023

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Is This the Fortune of Palestinian Children, My Love?

Poem by Anto Narasoma

[Poetry Community of Indonesian Society’s Inspiration: PPIPM – Indonesia, Poetry-Pen IC, Indonesian Writer of Satu Pena, Indonesian Creator of AI Era]

Is this the fortune of Palestinian children, My Love?

A plate of rice tainted with decay,
spiced with the stench of gunpowder
that you unleashed—
with gunfire and the roaring sound of bombs,
shattering the feelings buried beneath
the fragments of their collapsed future.

Since morning’s gaze opened its eyes,
the sun cast its light upon
countless streams of tears—
falling from Palestinian children.

When will we laugh again
in a playground crushed and broken,
wrecked by the greed of voices of war, My Love?

Shall no hour, no moment,
no storm-battered day ever leave a trace—
of a holiday
unstained by the feast of artillery fire
and the bombardments haunting my dreams at night?

When will You return
those tearful Jews to their homeland of occupation,
after we offered love—
only to receive thousands of bullets
lodged into our chests, My Love?

Palembang, South Sumatra
Indonesia
October 29th, 2023

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Tears and Prayers for Gaza

Poem by Zulkifli Abdy

[Poetry Community of Indonesian Society’s Inspiration: PPIPM – Indonesia, Poetry-Pen IC, Indonesian Writer of Satu Pena, Indonesian Creator of AI Era]

Through the window of the night,
I saw them weeping—
bodies scattered lifeless,
as rockets of destruction pierced
the earth of Gaza,
the land of Palestine’s hopes.
Oh Allah, save Al-Aqsa Mosque!

Through the window of the night,
my eyes stared into emptiness.
The land of the peninsula was bathed in blood,
their cries echo in voiceless despair.
They are our brothers and sisters.
Oh Allah, protect the Muslims and all people of Palestine!

Banda Aceh, Indonesia
October 12th, 2023

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FURY

Poem by Muslimin

[Poetry Community of Indonesian Society’s Inspiration: PPIPM – Indonesia, Poetry-Pen IC, Indonesian Writer of Satu Pena, Indonesian Creator of AI Era]

Palestine, your endless poems
are written with the ink of blood.
Shrouds of grief veil the sobs of children,
their tears dry before they can fall.
Fragments of bone uphold collapsing ruins.
Smiles and whispers of faith light up the faces of martyrs.
How long will fury reign?

As flames rage, ferocious and savage,
missiles mercilessly pierce the hearts of warriors.
Hospitals obliterated,
humanitarian aid annihilated—
even warm blankets turn into soldiers’ boot rags.
Infants die of cold, their tiny bodies blue with sorrow.
Forgive me, Palestine,
for I can only offer my prayers.

Why does history massacre your tragedy, Palestine?
There is no time for skylarks in flight,
no moments to laugh beneath the rain.
There is no time for children’s joyful shouts—
only darkness,
a void,
an abyss of despair.

Lamongan, East Java
Indonesia,
January 13th, 2025

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The Cries of Palestinian Children’s Hearts

Poem by Ramli Djafar

[Poetry Community of Indonesian Society’s Inspiration: PPIPM – Indonesia, Poetry-Pen IC, Indonesian Writer of Satu Pena, Indonesian Creator of AI Era, ACC SHILA]

We are born in Palestine,
the land of our ancestors.
Yet,
we feel like exiles.

The songs we hear
are not of laughter or joy—
but the sirens of ambulances,
the rattle of machine guns,
the thunder of cannons,
the wails of pain,
and the helpless cries of despair.

We are born in our own homeland,
named Palestine.
Yet,
we feel like strangers.
We live among ruins,
eat and drink not of our own soil—
but from the hands of strangers.

We are Palestinian children,
not knowing where we come from.
But one thing is certain:
we were born and raised here.

Why are we born into conflict?
Why must we endure war zones?
Why can’t we experience peace?

Why?
Oh, why?

We yearn to be like children elsewhere—
to play with dolls,
to run through gardens.
But not here.
Not here.
Here, we play with horror,
live in terror,
run from the shadow of death,
learning only how to survive.

Our lives are full of dreams.
Will they ever come true?
Will they ever be real?

Oh lords of the world,
we, too, wish to be like your children—
to play with carefree laughter,
not as we do now,
not amidst these circumstances.

Padang, West Sumatra
Indonesia,
August 3rd, 2024

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Tears in Wadi Gaza

Poem by Leni Marlina

[Poetry Community of Indonesian Society’s Inspiration: PPIPM – Indonesia, Poetry-Pen IC, Indonesian Writer of Satu Pena, Indonesian Creator of AI Era, FSM, ACC SHILA]

<1>

We, children of dust, born of torn skies—
where bullets slither like snakes to strike the dawn.
The blue sky has vanished, ripped by bomb clangs,
leaving only blackness draped over restless days.

Wadi Gaza, a shallow stream of whispered sins,
its waters darkened, carrying the history of wounds.
We sit beneath a limp fig tree,
catching withered leaves that breathe no more.

“Mother, why does the sky cry blood?”
We ask the evening, burning red.
The sky answers with the roar of fire,
telling of a paradise far from here.

<2>

Olive groves in Ramallah tremble in silence,
their green fruits cradle buried prayers—
prayers like dreams entombed,
crushed beneath boots ignorant of compassion.

Gaza’s shores, your waves no longer gentle,
your tides devour sands scented with sorrow.
We run along your edge,
leaving traces of hope—
haunted by the shadows of war.

We, little children with trembling hands,
wipe away tears that cannot dry.
“Why does the world not see, Father?”
Father only bows his head,
searching for answers in bullet-riddled soil.

<3>

A Sidr tree calls to us from afar,
“Come, find shelter here,” it whispers.
But our feet are snared by barbed wire,
and the wind carries only the echo of tired prayers.

We yearn to leap to the sky,
to grasp the blue so cruelly torn away.
We dream of a world without bullets,
without nights shattered by wailing sirens.

<4>
But for now,
we wipe tears with dusty hands,
entrust our souls to the God we call upon,
and stand firm—though we are small—
as brave as the Sidr tree in Gaza’s desert.

We are Gaza—Palestine,
we are unceasing prayers,
an eternal flame never extinguished.
Though the skies fall,
we shall endure,
holding the darkened dusk,
planting hope in the light of the next dawn.

Padang, West Sumatra,
Indonesia, 2023