Roots of Resistance: The Legacy of Treaty and Truth #6

They came with parchment, wax, and quills,  

Whispering peace in the shade of the hills.  

With tongues of silver and hands so light,  

they signed the dusk and stole the night.  

The Olive Trees, with roots so deep,  

stood where their fathers swore to keep.  

The breath of earth, the pulse of stone,  

a land that never stands alone.  

Yet each new scroll, a binding chain,  

draped in hope, concealed in pain.  

The words, a mirage, the ink, a tide,  

washing away what truth would bide.  

1494, Tordesillas drew its lines.  

They sliced the world, they claimed divine.  

The rivers wept, the forests burned,  

and treaties twisted and never turned.  

1814, they came again,  

a hundred tongues, a thousand men.  

Guns in hands yet smile so wide—  

“Come, let us walk side by side.”  

Trail of Tears, the dust still speaks,  

of words betrayed and hollowed peaks.  

A handshake sworn, a promise sold,  

the paper fresh, the ink grown cold.  

Madrid, Oslo, words well-spun,  

a dove’s disguise, a loaded gun.  

They drew the borders, shaped the sand,  

and left the Olive Trees unmanned.  

Intifada, a flame, a cry,  

the fruit now scorched, the branches dry.  

But still, they grow, through ash and lead,  

For roots defy what treaties said.  

So send your scribes, your seals, your claims,  

Your fleeting peace, your shifting names.