Enemies / eating the fruit of our trees / wearing our clothes.

We were sitting at the harbor / talking about university buses / about crowding / about nothing important.

We seek refreshment and escape along the coastline, but Israel forbids us from entering the water and drops bombs along the shore.

Falafel, za’atar and zaytoon / sat in dishes on tables above the golden sand.

Scarred / I never chose / a fate etched in the stones of Al-Shati / or a history written in bullets / bombs and blockades.

Gaza treats me badly, but it has been wronged as well — hurt, abused, destroyed, exploited, neglected for decades.

People continue to find meaning and solace at the beaches even though they are now crowded with tents and garbage.

The sea in Gaza once glistened as if barrels of marine-blue glitter had been poured over its surface. Not now.

The shoreline has changed, the city has disappeared, and our future is hard to fathom.

They said that the sea has been in mourning /  Since he sensed the blood of a martyred boy on his waves.

Despite the limitations of the occupation, many Gazans have found a sense of freedom by jumping into the ocean.

I wake up with anticipation. A day at the sea is always special.