Elegy for Dima Alhaj
You were / The sigh of an orange tree / The hymn of faith, and love, and joy.
- Gaza Strip
- Diaspora
Abdallah Abusamra was born to a refugee mother who hails from Ramleh City in historic Palestine. She and her family haven’t been allowed to go back home since they were forced out of Ramleh in 1948. Her exile became his.
He studied English Literature at the Islamic University of Gaza, graduating top of his class, and was later a UGRAD finalist. Before October 7, 2023, he taught at the Oxford English Centre and also serves as a trainer and advisor for NGOs and UN agencies. Both his university and workplacesare now ruins.
For six months after the war began, Abdallah lived in displacement. On April 10, 2024, he left Gaza, knowing he might not be able to return.
He currently studies applied intercultural communications at Trinity College Dublin. He writes—lately, poetry—from the place between survival and disposability. He also sings classical Arab music. “I ask what worth words have when lives are treated as worthless,” he says. “And yet I write, because words outlast wreckage.”
Abdallah asserts, “I want to go back. To rebuild Gaza in a Palestinian state, not an Israeli arrangement. To live and die in my country. After genocide, the least we deserve is recognition, self-determination, the right to carry our identity as other nations do. I will continue writing, not to perish.”
Current as of October 2025
You were / The sigh of an orange tree / The hymn of faith, and love, and joy.
You, shrouded in the red of courage / O dearest martyr, you fell, so we remain.
Jumana grew up without a “baba,” but at last he is home.
He tried to sail a boat out of the Gaza harbor. He ended up in prison.
Born with no arms, Aya uses her feet to achieve her dreams.
My grandmother tried for 25 years to visit her homeland.
This young man in Gaza is reaching for the stars, literally.