Have you heard, O noble world,
Of a land so small, yet great?
Its name is Palestine, our mother,
Whom her enemies seek to destroy.
The hardest fate is to be a mother in Palestine,
For a cursed people kill our children,
The innocent sons and daughters of our land,
A land so small, yet the greatest in the world.
Have you heard, O deaf world,
The cries and tears of fathers in Palestine,
For their children held in captivity,
Beaten and killed inside prisons.
The fairest sky is above my homeland,
Our little, yet mighty Palestine,
Where the river flows toward the sea,
As my heart forever longs for home.
Have you seen, O blind world,
How beautiful our Palestine is?
Our olive groves, our watermelons, our rivers and our sea,
And the sky—its blue is like no other.
Have you felt, O cold world,
How much pain and blood fill our Palestine?
Here, pain is both sister and mother,
And freedom is our father.
Have you heard, O world that has been sold,
How many of us have been killed,
How many more they still wish to kill,
Yet they will never succeed—we belong to this land.
As long as one son or one daughter of our land remains,
The brave heart of Palestine will keep on beating.
And we shall triumph, we shall be free,
For good will always overcome evil.
