LOVE Poem: The Olive Tree’s Promise, by Tamara Fakhoury

Under the soft shadow of an olive tree,
where my grandmother once stood her
fingers brushing the rough bark, the cool
evening air settling on her skin. She told
me stories her voice like a lullaby, as if
the land itself hummed with memory.

Ramallah, then, was not a city of loss but of
laughter spilling into the streets, of young men
and women dancing on rooftops to the rhythm of
a love song no one could forget. She met him
there, my grandfather, a man from a distant
village. but to her: he was the only one.

They sat beneath that same olive tree, whispering about
a future that felt wide as the sky, her hand resting in his,
as if the soil itself had promised to keep them together.
The scent of jasmine in the air, the taste of fresh bread,
the sound of the city fading into the hum of her
heartbeat–

Spoke to me of the quiet mornings, of how the sun kissed the
hills of Ramallah, painting everything gold, how their love grew
slowly, steadily, always reaching for the light. They were young,
full of dreams that felt as simple and eternal as the olive
branches, strong and unbroken.

But that world shattered one evening when the
first crack of violence split the sky. The streets
that had once echoed with laughter now
carried the heavy silence of leaving, of
knowing there was no place to stay. She fled
with him, the olive tree and its promise left
behind,

her heart still tied to the roots that no
longer grew beneath her feet