I’m trying my hardest to keep sane:
When I see a mother’s pale face,
the one that lost its radiance after the war began,
the one that aged years in a few months;

When I see her sink in coal to prepare a morsel of food,
Or when I behold her trembling eyes,
seeking a way to secure her family,
to keep them alive.

I’m trying my hardest to freeze my bitterness:
When I witness men in line for hours
to obtain bread, water, the most basic human needs,
all because they’re steadfast in Gaza.

I’m trying my hardest to keep sane:
When I hear the brutal bombings
and think of the Chosen People,
of how many children become orphans
or lose their limbs;

Of how many Gazans, young or old,
burdened by an infinite list of never-ending traumas,
find themselves facing yet another one:
how “survivors” will survive.

I’m trying my hardest to squash my anguish:
When I see a child become their family’s breadwinner,
standing in the cruel weather in front of their wares
instead of sitting at their classroom desk;

When I watch a child on foot,
carrying belongings triple their weight for endless miles,
pausing momentarily upon hearing the deafening sounds of airstrikes,
and continuing on their way, nonetheless.

Tell me, how can I keep sane?