Inside Gaza. Photo: Lujain Anan

Inside this rounded earth, lies a small city,
A city where time hides behind the shadow of stability.
A city where the air might hurt your lungs,
Maybe smoke from the fire, maybe ruins or dust.
A city where it’s impossible to hide from death,
The enemy will hear your steps, even your breath.
You won’t hold your tears anymore;
Even at night, fear will knock at your door.
The sound of your enemy launching their hate,
A sound that shakes your nerves and frightens your fate.
A noise that sends your cat beneath your bed,
So thunderous, that it shreds the silence and rends the sky red.
So piercing that it shatters your mirror,
Brutal enough that it will fill your eyes with terror.
I don’t wish to cloud your light with this despair;
Once, my days were treasures, precious and rare.
My days became full of stones and mud;
All the streets smell of death and blood.
I can’t bear the crying echoes;
I won’t forget blood-stained pillows.
It’s impossible to recover from pain
That once made you cry in vain,
That once weakened your hair to grey,
Leaving you to complain to your god you weep and pray
I miss the scent of the cold sea breeze,
While birds sing a welcome song with ease.
I miss that old lady sitting in her wooden chair,
Wearing her old gold necklaces with some stories to share.
Missing those prankster kids in every neighborhood,
Chided by their angry parents that they should behave good.
Oh, my homeland, keep holding your power;
Your people are still resisting every day, every hour.
Soon, butterflies will dance gracefully around your lilies
And your people will feast upon your berries.

Another flag sighting. Photo: Lujain Anan