The man's name is Ismail Khatib.
He lives in Sho3fat refugee camp.
He was marching in front of the people
carrying a black flag with a map
of Palestine & the key that
symbols the right of return.
And I saw his face as
They threw him on the ground.
Half a dozen of heavily armed soldiers,
. crushing him towards
the cement road,
one man down
It was time to make an arrest.
It was time to make a human sacrifice
to the Idol of occupation.
The Idol of hate.
The Idol of brutal violence.
The Idol is hungry & can not be pleased with chanting
neither convinced by logic,
It was time to take a man down.So they did.
Took a man down & throw him on the ground.
smashed him Kick him. Choke him. Broke him.
Threw that man on the ground.
I threw myself on the ground too.
I am not part of their system.
I am a human & a sister too.
And from the ground, I could see his face.
The eyes of a wounded,
captured, tortured one,
he tried to tell me something,
to help him out or let him go,
but I could not understand what he said.
And they beat me up too.
They kicked me,
they stepped on my hand that tried to hold him.
They pulled my hairs & my head with my hair too.
Maybe one can learn how to take a beating.
I wish I could.
I am in pain.
And they took him
. they took Ismail Khatib away,
to where I don't know.
What else could I do. A man named Ismail Khatib.