Arafat Jaradat is dead.
Thirty years old.
A son, a husband,
and a father--2 young kids.
His jailers claim a heart attack.
Broken bones in the arms, legs, neck, and back.
Tortured by the occupier he died a brutal death.
i sit at home. i watch the news.
Prisoners in the occupiers jails refuse their food.
The streets rise up, stones rain down.
Black smoke and tear gas choke the air.
i watch the news.
i want to be on a plane to beloved Palestine.
i hear the call. INTIFADA!
The Occupiers stamp in my passport
covers an entire page.
In bold black letters it reads: