Blood in the sand

I rode a camel in the desert,
Hoping to find a buried treasure.

Tired and weary, it’s time to sleep,
I rest my head in the masjid.

Without the dark, there is no light,
A mini death, every night.

I wake up in the morning,
Like a lion, fiercely roaring.

Then I return to be a child,
Often playful, sometimes wild.

Family tree, an endless clan,
We all derive from one hand.

One small seed, planted deep,
Branches looming, oh so steep.

Sycamore, an ancient tree,
The strongest roots are underneath.

But among the roots and sand I found,
Conflict rising, gunshot sound.

Question everything, what is real?
Flesh and blood, Israel.