Where Olive Trees Weep

O mother’s heart, in those broken lands,
When will my child sleep without the shaking of an explosion?
The way an orphan looks at you... it is enough to break a stone.
Is there any real shelter left in this life?

The walls of my house are gone now.
They are just dust on a ground full of sadness.
But I see a neighbour reaching out to a neighbour.
We are the same; we all breathe the same grief.

The blood is one. The pain is one.
When will the world learn that a life has value?
We just want a peaceful morning kiss,
And the key to a door that actually keeps us safe.

To the men in power, to the men with the swords:
Stop the crying. Let the sun shine.
Let flowers grow in this thirsty dirt;
Our land was meant for more than just war and noise.

We are one pulse in an old, tired body.
Let us live together with some dignity.
I believe tomorrow will come with the sound of peace,
To push away the fear and kill the darkness.

O Lord of the Heavens, who knows our hearts,
Give us the patience to keep loving.
In the East, where even the olive trees seem to weep,
There are stories being told that never sleep.

You can hear the tears calling out everywhere—
Crying for home, crying for all the lost years.
Children are holding stones, but their hearts are like iron;
They are just dreaming of a day without a threat.

A mother prays, but the sky feels so far away.
They have no one left but the One Lord.
I ask the world: Where is your conscience?
How can you leave the innocent to such a bitter fate?

We don’t want your war. We want peace.
Our hearts are beating for a little respect.
How long will you stay silent while we bleed?
The earth is wounded, and the fear is not going away.

Let the sun rise bright and clear tomorrow.
Bring our families back together.
Let roses grow over the graves,
And let us build our homes again, starting fresh.

This is our cry, O Lord of the Worlds:
Give us peace. We are tired of the pain