And another usual day in Gaza
in the midst of genocide
My head boils under the hell of July
I carry the wood on my back
and the UN big box with my two hands
I drop them in the tent
wipe my sweaty face with my left hand
and pick up an empty gallon tank by the right one
to start my endless search for water

A horrible sound shakes the earth beneath my feet
Does thunder come in July?
I hug the ground
My breath mingles with dust
My face, too, with blood.

Pools of blood. Beasts of fear.
Screams of Moms. Cries of Dads.
Fires of tents. Coldness of death.
Terror of children. Agony of wounds.
Storms of darkness. Blazes of summer.

Open my eyes. Look to the left. Then right.
Then left again. Close my eyes. Can’t see.
A teardrop falls from my left eye
full of dust and blood.

I am alive.
I survive.
I do.