we are not numbers

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

Trees with bombs in sky in background.

They took my sky away

What’s the point of having wings when all the air is stolen?
Trees with bombs in sky in background.
Image: Guillaume Trouillard. Courtesy the Palestine Poster Project Archives

They are still there over my head.
Buzzing, hovering, spreading death
It wasn’t enough that they took the land.

Now they are conquering my sky.
My dearest sky is full of fear.
full of bombs and agony.

The same sky I used to stare at
is now the one I’m afraid to recognize.

They took my sky and left me
shaking, trembling and anxious.
How will I be safe now?
How will I be free?
What’s the point of having wings,
when all the air is stolen.
and this vast blue space
is no longer ours; it is no longer mine.

It all started
on one of the darkest nights.
They slayed the moon
and then took the sun.
They used the blood
to make the sky red.
That’s their favorite color.
That’s how it’s preferred.

Now my wings will wither
and slowly crumble into ashes.
I am not a phoenix.
For now, I’ve lost my purpose.
The air is heavy.
It is no longer my place to stay.

I want to be hopeful.
But how shall I ever be so?
This isn’t a story of hope.
It is just another tragedy.
Because they took my light away.
They took my joy away.
They took my sky and with it,
my soul just faded away.

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