Poetry: Jahangir Khan
O Palestine—beloved, enduring land,
Wounded yet dignified in every grain of sand.
Your flag, revered, rises proud and high,
A banner of justice beneath the world’s wide sky.
Across the stadiums of nations and seas,
Millions lift your colors with defiant ease.
In steady hands it waves—clear, humane—
Raised by presidents, by hearts unchained.
Like a Bolivarian hero of conscience and flame,
Your flag is lifted, refusing shame.
A moment captured, gentle yet profound,
An image where solidarity is found.
That image will live on, page after page,
On the cover of my poems—testimony of an age:
An age that knows Palestine not by grief alone,
But by a people whose roots are stone.
Yet the world must do more than raise a sign—
The flag must wave free on Palestinian soil, divine.
For freedom claimed not by fire or kill,
But by justice earned through peaceful will.
Still, they try—again—to erase, to deny,
Zionists and Yankees scripting genocide,
While preaching rights with hollow tone,
As if blood could ever be overthrown.
Remember this hour; remember this name,
For truth will rise as global flame.
As long as Palestine lives and breathes,
Free in spirit, free in belief—
Let no more children’s clothes be red with pain,
No women’s tears fall like rain.
Let Palestine be seen, a crimson rose,
Shining bright where the olive grows—
A rose of life, of hope, of land,
Forever blooming in Palestinian hands.
