
I stand at the edge of life,
thin,
like a knife
swinging
between
present and past.
The past is a room,
resonant laughter hanging on its walls,
and a faint echo
where the sound of sorrow lingers.
Its ground tells the stories of friends’ joyful steps,
light as if they barely touch the earth,
flowing with happiness.
No ceiling,
its infinite ceiling
the sky of dreams.
The past is a room with windows open wide to hope
through which it seeps,
nourishing
the seeds of small dreams
until they flourish.
I’m tied to this past
with a hair-thin thread
that could break at any time.
I’m tied to the present
with a red cord,
a rope, thick and taut,
the noose of fate,
tightening its grip with each passing day.
Its name is blood,
its name is flood.
I swing
like the pendulum of an ancient clock —
until I plunge into a chasm
of endless pain,
of loss,
called war.
The chasm harbors a magnetic storm,
twisting and spiraling,
drawing in all who, like me, fall in.
We are captive inside.
It tears at flesh,
at memory,
until all that’s left
are shadows of homes
that once stood,
and whispers of names of the departed:
Eman with her dream of a family,
whose laughter used to fill the room,
her voice sunlight streaming through the window;
Nour with her hope of being a dentist —
I still see her smile in the doorway,
feel the warmth of her hand in mine,
whose memory is fading,
a shadow slipping away.
I grope for the light,
but it’s swallowed by the mouth of grief,
by the silence of the dead
who once laughed,
who once dreamed.
War, also an octopus
with long, twisting arms,
reaches for my lungs,
squeezing until every breath
turns jagged,
tearing through my chest,
turned brittle,
fragile as glass
that may shatter
with the next explosion.
And now war
is a relentless colossal wave,
towering and powerful
that will not recede until
it engulfs all who fall in.
I stand at the edge again,
but now I don’t swing.
Instead I hear the whisper of names
that vanish in the wind,
and I feel the descent
into darkness
that never seems to end.
Eman Saqallah, 25, was martyred on October 19, 2023, along with her two children, Zaid and Omar, and several family members. She was full of energy and passion, loved life and laughter, and cherished beautiful clothing.
Nour Yaghi, 25, graduated in 2022 and completed her internship in September 2023. Noor was martyred on February 22, 2024, in the central Gaza Strip. She had a joyful spirit and a love for life, and she aspired to become a successful dentist.