‘My body at night rebels from all the deaths and anger. I drip sweat. I wake to my sweat like a waterfall on my body and I smell death.’
The entire street was reduced to a gray-black expanse of ash by Israeli airstrikes. But nature had the last say.
In the bleak diaspora, melancholy swirls around my scattered self, making me wonder: Were we born to live or to die?
“I don’t know how I survived! I don’t know how my feet carried me!” Unlike many others, my brother Mohammed somehow survived.
A Gazan who travels to Egypt for work purposes finds himself trapped away from family and in anguish about their fate.
‘If I survive this genocide, I promise that I will rebuild our home again and make it more beautiful than ever!’
World, hear my confession, hear my plight: / Forty angels lost, my kin, my own.
Despite the loss of her entire immediate family, a young woman is determined to persevere.
A young son’s strong attachment to his mother cannot protect him from the violence of Israel’s bombs on Gaza.
The devastations of unending war cannot extinguish a Gazan’s desire to ‘pave the stepping stones for my future.’
As if war is not enough! Our dreams are being stolen away by forced moves, near-deaths, and the Rafah border closing.
Tears blur my eyes / but your smile is clear / like a field of wheat.
