October 11, 2017; my bedroom, Gaza City. I pick up my pen and let my life wash over me. I write.

run just run 
leave your cup of coffee
don’t look back
run
if you enter your house,
hoping for rest in the dark
run
if you write your last poem
with sorrow or joy
dry your tears
run
if you’re tasting your first kiss
leave the girl you’ll never know
run
if you are questioning the sky
waiting for the stars to answer
run 
if you look at the moon
and it seems bleak or bright
run
if you listen to a song
and you feel peace or love
or nothing
run
if you look at the mirror
and can't see your self
run
if you touch your features
and feel young or old
or nothing
run
if you touch your pillow
and remember no dreams
or wish to sleep
run
you are a stranger
everyone has become a stranger