we are not numbers
emerging writers from Palestine tell their stories and advocate for their human rights
I have wonderful memories of my grandma’s house, but now it’s empty.
We had a simple, humble house in a narrow alley.
Under the roof, our laughter, tears and warmth gathered.
But over time, we said goodbye to one after the other.
Wars, old age and the lack of a future
were the reasons for their departure.
Now, the house is empty except for old pictures and dust.
The sun rises and shines,
but the house is like a body with no soul.
But we shall return.
