My garden, that once pulsed with life, was reduced to a desert of ash. But it will grow again.

The whispering walnut calls / begs me to breathe / to stop crying. / To return.

In Octobers, /  the summer said farewell. / A shivering cold stood at the door.

Stuck in a grim reality, she retreats to a dream state with no horrors, only nature’s tapestry and jazz.

Why should a story about flowers be this sad?

Faith and imagination are the winged creatures that keep hope alive in these dark times.

A brief experience of life with freedom and without siege contrasts sharply with the existential struggle of living displaced in a tent.  

In a corner of our rented third-story house / Clay stuck to straw / A home for a future family

In the midst of hardship, a young Gazan looks to the stars to find beauty.