we are not numbers

emerging writers from Palestine tell their stories and advocate for their human rights

Back of woman looking at quadcopter in the sky.

Tell them

Tell them / Tell them / we are more than numbers / more than silent echoes / in a ledger of loss
Huda.

 

Back of woman looking at quadcopter in the sky.
Artist: Debashish Chakrabarty. Courtesy of the Palestine Poster Project Archives

Tell them,
Tell them,
we are more than numbers,
more than silent echoes
in a ledger of loss,
we are families
entwined in love,
friends,
living in the shadows
of our hopes,
bound by dreams.

Tell them,
Dr. Rafaat Alareer’s words
still ring
in our hearts,
his voice whispers
in foreign streets,
in every glance
we cast at the sky,
where the kite
of his spirit soars,
we tread his path,
weaving stories
from his legacy.

Tell them,
Zina calls for her father,
Ismael Al-Ghoul,
with a voice
hushed by grief,
snatched away
by Zionist forces
that deemed
his journalistic truth
a threat,
alongside his cameraman,
Rami Al-Rifi,
who shared his fate.

Tell them,
not only Zina weeps
for her lost father,
but also Dania,
Roshdi Sarraj’s daughter,
whose life was
cruelly cut short
by those same Zionist forces.
Such beautiful, innocent souls,
like Zina and Dania,
will grow up
without their heroes,
without their fathers.

Tell them,
the courageous Hind Khoudary,
and countless others like her,
march on,
carrying the torch
of Ismael, Roshdi, and Rami.

Tell them,
Ali Jadallah, though shattered,
continues to capture our agony
through his camera
with unyielding strength.

Tell them,
Mohammed Zaher Hamo,
my colleague,
lost his life and family,
a young soul cut down,
his pen and heart
stilled too early.

Tell them,
our people are torn apart,
women and children
bearing the brunt
of relentless cruelty.

Tell them,
the skies above Gaza
are ours no more,
occupied
by drones,
bombs,
and gunships,
each bullet
a symbol of their wrath.

Tell them,
in Gaza, fathers bury sons,
children’s cries
pierce the night
for lost parents.

Tell them,
our martyrs
— more than 40,000 —
lie beneath the earth,
each a story untold,
a life cut short,
a family left bereft,
their spirits light our path,
urging us forward.

Tell them,
we shall avenge them
with our voices,
with ink and pen,
with memory and prayer.

Tell them,
they will forever
reside in our hearts.

But tell me,
how can we live,
the living
endure,
without
our beloved ones?

 

Watch a video of Huda’s poem.

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