You scroll and witness a child chasing a water truck / your heart shatters in the silent chase.

I ask ChatGPT / because it always has an answer: / When will Palestine be free?

Grief crept into me / seeping deep into my heart / into every corner of my being.

Maybe I would have sat longer in our garden / where jasmine crept up cracked walls / and everything still felt alive.

You, shrouded in the red of courage / O dearest martyr, you fell, so we remain.

Why do you not seem dead? / Why do I catch myself crying for you?

We are more than two million / with death circling above.

She wished she could tuck Janan back into her womb / hide her from the world’s cruelty, keep her safe.

Again and again, she leads me out of doubt’s abyss / showing me how to move in the dark.

Between hunger and suffering, a furious rage was born / It scorched my soul, burning through every part of my being.

Today I dream of my toilet / I know you don’t give a shit / I don’t give a shit either / and have not for almost a week.

I am only / a child / but my red shoes lie buried / beneath the broken wall.