Palestine

A Travel to Palestine In a landscape of chlorophyll sprinkled with yellow and red flowers, neglected olive trees and bushes, my motorbike broke down, my mobile was useless no signal here and I had a long walk home. If I only had a donkey I could continued to the hazy blue mountain that has has always eluded me, moving away from me when sought. The beast and I could have reached the mountain, over and past it and ended up in Palestine, old people are respected there; mind some old men do not deserve accolade, like Henry Kissinger, a man of many sins, but I would flame the downtrodden with the fire of freedom, and not let them sink into the peace of slaves who have lost how to dream. I would then give my donkey to another old man and travel to Amman in Jordan and take a plane home, sit in my room and be glad that my life had not been futile, and listened with ease as shadows of assassins surround my home.