Abbu Poem by jackilton peachum

ABBU

My name is Abbu- and I'm a very old man- indeed, so old it seems sometimes I can remember the Ottomans- although I would've been very young at the time.
Pardon, my mind isn't as clear as it used to be!
My family has lived in the same big house in the hills above Hayfa for generations. It must be mentioned that I abide well with my Jewish neighbors- as well as Christians, Bahai, and even the Americans and Europeans who sometimes pass through.
I'm a religious man- I pray every day- and not just at the required times.
My children are all gone now, removing themselves to somewhere in faraway Egypt- they don't trust the Israeli governance. My wife-may the Prophet bless and remember her- is long ago deceased- my house has been lonely, very lonely. I've spent much time with my servants, the halls and corridors echoing to meager footsteps where once was a large active family and much laughter.
In the grounds behind my house- the gardens where the olive trees grew.
All my life I've loved and nurtured these trees- my children as much as ever the offspring of my loins- some of them more than a thousand years old! My father knew these trees, my grandfather- and further back and back- the family named them, each one. I sat among them when I was a child, talked to them, prayed among them- every day I walked in the olive grove.
This afternoon, the soldiers arrived.
They pulled their trucks to a halt in the driveway beside the house and came in.
They gave me one hour.
'But I've no truck or vehicle! ', I pleaded- 'If I leave I must walk! '
'Walk then, ' said an officer, 'Walk old man! ' And he added, 'God gave us this land! '
Later, as I trudged along the road, two servants behind hauling clothes, keepsakes, and the remnants of my life, I came to a place in the highlands where I could glimpse both the sea and the Stella Mous at the top of Mount Carmel.
And when I looked back, I saw smoke gathering in the heavens from where they were burning the olive trees.