​​​Maryam’The name of a Palestinian girl, her birth was in the camp/January 11th/ It doesn’t matter what year it was... When she started talking/ The days were safe, and the nights were like each other/ Waiting, longing and cold…

 

The little ones hated the tents, and those who stole the peace/ The innocent rose ran/ But the wire fence surrounded her/ The dress was scratched/ A drop of her blood flowed/ A tear fell on her cheeks/ It has the meaning of protest/ It has the meaning of need/ There was in her eyes something asking: Where is my homeland??! !

 

Childhood is not childhood in the camp.. Young children do not play/ They do not laugh/ Born and hair is gray/ Between a case and a gun/ And the case is this/ And the case is Maryam…”

 

The little ones hated the tents, and those who stole the peace/ The innocent rose ran/ But the wire fence surrounded her/ The dress was scratched/ A drop of her blood flowed/ A tear fell on her cheeks/ It has the meaning of protest/ It has the meaning of need/ There was in her eyes something asking: Where is my homeland??! !

 

Childhood is not childhood in the camp.. Young children do not play/ They do not laugh/ Born and hair is gray/ Between a case and a gun/ And the case is this/ And the case is Maryam…”​