تَقَدَّمَتِ الدَّبّابَةُ وأُمّي تَحْضُنُ زَيْتونَتَها، جَسَدُها يَلْتَصِقُ بِجِذْعِها، ذِراعاها تَحْنوانِ عَلَيْها كَأُمٍّ تُهَدِّئُ مِنْ رَوْعِ صَغيرَتِها… والدَّبّابةُ تَتَحَرَّكُ وتَهُزُّ الأرْضَ وأُمّي تَحْضُنُ شَجَرَتَها. لَمْ تَعُدْ تَشْعُرُ بِما يَدورُ حَوْلَها. اتَّحَدَ عالَمُها بِعالَمِ الزَّيْتونَة
When the Tank approached, my mom stuck to her olive tree, her body clutched to the tree trunk, her arms surrounded it as if she was pacifying her terrified daughter… and the tank kept proceeding, shaking the ground, while my mom was embracing her tree. She was unconscious to what was going around her. Her world was untied with the tree’s world.
