we are not numbers
emerging writers from Palestine tell their stories and advocate for their human rights
Since the 7th of October / I put my life, even my crying, on hold / I was living but not alive. Was it real?
Since the 7th of October,
I put my life, even my crying, on hold.
I was living but not alive. Was it real?
My heart was suspended among
the clouds of smoke occupying Gaza’s sky.
I have tried but I couldn’t.
What will I do when the ceasefire is announced?
How will my heart beat?
Will I realize then the genocide wasn’t a nightmare?
Will I realize it was televised, documented?
And there was silence?
Will I realize then this has actually been happening?
When a ceasefire is announced,
I sit at my distant corner, crying,
all the tears I couldn’t cry,
I haven’t cried.
Singing, all the songs I couldn’t sing.
There will be a flood
of delayed tears stuck inside.
No time to cry while running to survive,
while our existence has been erased.
God will be angry.
His promise is broken again.
The favorite children haven’t killed
all the Amaleks.
The angels of death will be pleased.
They were exhausted.
This rest is well deserved.
They should have a raise.
Satan will be happy.
Revolution rose up against injustice.
Corpses piled up.
Blood soaked even from amputated limbs.
The world will be hungry.
Sadly, a human animal survived
with his tender meaty child.
It always prefers the grilled one, extra salted by IV saline.
The mother will be confused.
Will she ever find her lost child?
Will she ever find his grave?
He can’t sleep without her singing.
