we are not numbers
emerging writers from Palestine tell their stories and advocate for their human rights
We are more than two million / with death circling above.
We are more than two million,
with death circling above.
Every day. Every hour. Every moment.
Without end, it tucks agony
as if oppression swore to cling
to our wounds,
as if misery vowed to finish us off.
And the tragedy is:
I am not alone.
Here, death is life’s twin.
Here, we are all the same.
In Gaza, a newborn came into the world
only after a rocket’s shrapnel killed his mother
and tore through her skull.
His first sight — death stealing his mother’s face.
We breathe death,
We eat death,
We drink nothing but death.
As if it seizes us,
tears through our flesh without mercy.
From the water line,
to the food relief line,
to the line of shattered homes:
They replaced convoys of life
with convoys of death.
I am not alone… and
as if we are pawns
they move us right and left,
up and down…
And then, death.
