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. 

My eyes open before the light finds the room— / outside my window the world explodes.

Falafel, za’atar and zaytoon / sat in dishes on tables above the golden sand.

I’m 18 and I had a dream / that houses bloomed with love not blood.

If I had known / it was the last time I’d see you / I would never have looked away.

What should I carry / in the bag of exile?

When the war ends / I will paint the city’s walls / With all the colors we forgot.