we are not numbers

emerging writers from Palestine tell their stories and advocate for their human rights

I survived

Who are the strangers holding me? This is not my mother's smell, nor my father's.
A young woman smiling.
injured baby held by medical staff
Photo circulated on social media

From under the rubble, I cried

When all at once was gone

I saw people crowded side by side

I wish I could run

I decide

To cry so hard, to wail.

 

Under the rubble: 

 

Could a five-month-old baby utter a word?

A sound of chaos was the only thing I heard

 

Pain!

Sigh!

Pain!

Sigh!

Unbearable –sigh – pain!

A blast of light was finally plain

Camera flashes?

 

Who are the strangers holding me? 

This is not my mother’s smell; nor my father’s 

Why are they all taking photos? 

 

Only strangers all around

I needed nobody but my Mum

father kissing injured infant
Photo circulated on social media

I cried one further time

And finally my father’s been found

More hopeful I’ve become

 

Finally back home, but with a difference.

Despite the loss, my father and I don’t surrender.

Given this chance was not a coincidence

Life is worth living and I am here, the sender

Of a message of glorious significance

That this world still has hope despite the incident

And I will be an ever-lasting defender.

 

 

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