In Arabic, we call the beginning
of a new year, the head of the year.
But under the rubble in Gaza,
they found the new year beheaded.
While still a fetus, the fetus is unborn.

What were my wishes for the new year?
What were my grandfather’s wishes in 1949
after the Nakba?
My memory has been stabbed in the skull, betrayed
like the world betrayed Gaza,
where a huge black smoke covers the blueness of
her sky and the smell of fresh air.

I ripped up the blank paper where
I wanted to write my new year wishes
after a long staring at the ceiling.
The world was never a place for my dreams
but at least dreaming was possible.
I grab another paper, write with huge black letters,
leave it on the table face up for God to see:
“Please, ceasefire now and let Palestine be free.”