by Phyllis May

Riyad Gantous shows where Abuna Chacour’s house was in Biram

A group of 21 souls with great expectations,
wandering through Israel, looking and searching.
Where is Palestine. Hope?

Nowhere but spots of areas here and there – homes, schools, parks, and farms,
only foundations are seen. Hope?

Another village, 531 in all, gone.
So is the house of a sad elderly family man. Hope?

A young child sits alone, chin in his hands,
No one to play with, the house next door is gone. Hope?

The long line at one of many check points,
Men with guns and questions. Hope?

An olive grove on the other side of the wall, farmer unable to harvest.
No permission at all.
Seems whatever we do there is no hope at all.

Hills with rocks covered by planted trees and cactus hide more foundations.
Come and see, go and tell. Hope!!

Too many walls and fences, everyone is afraid.
Shots fired, fear, children running, falling. Hope is not here.

Warm sun, a breeze, singing, someone says God is near.
More challenges, great struggles and discourse, faith is in the air. Hope?

A church comes into view.

People will share.
Maybe Hope is here.