I want to shout, scream, and cry, / For every soul beneath Gaza’s sky.

Tears blur my eyes / but your smile is clear / like a field of wheat.

The harshness of today / the fear of tomorrow / two mountains crushing / the youth of your cheeks.

I got a call my beloved friend was killed. / May God grant him peace. / I hung up and went to sleep.

Somewhere in paradise / Edward Said is saying to Mahmoud Darwish / (heavy with pride): See the students

In a corner of our rented third-story house / Clay stuck to straw / A home for a future family

If it were not for the Nakba, / May 15 might be a sunny day.

They said that the sea has been in mourning /  Since he sensed the blood of a martyred boy on his waves.

If I must live / You must see / The resistant one you taught me to be

“I wish I were that drowning sun,” / you told me, / “tightly embracing the horizon, / flying into the abyss of freedom.”

Pages of history drip with my blood / and my grandfather’s tears / for his murdered olive tree.

A child should play, laugh, giggle / Call mom to make breakfast / Throw himself into grandfather’s arms / And live