Art: “River” by Malak Matar

When you love a woman from Gaza,
you inherit a homeland
without ever touching its soil.

You live inside her eyes,
you smell her breath.
You read her words as a poem and
a lasting spring grows inside you.
You love every wave that embraces
the coast of her land.

When you love a woman from Gaza,
you learn how survival
can create tenderness;
how someone can carry
entire ruins in her chest
and still speak gently.

In her eyes you may find
a sleepless night,
a thousand unanswered prayers,
but never surrender.

You love her fierce softness,
the way she pours coffee.
You love the fire in her voice
while describing the beauty of her city
and the silence in her eyes
when memory stifles speech.

When you love a woman from Gaza,
you love the sea within her —
sandpipers on the shore,
salt carried by the wind,
fishermen returning at dawn
tired but content.

When you love a woman from Gaza,
you love patience shaped by siege,
strength forged by absence,
faith carved by loss.

You love someone
who learned early
to plant flowers
outside shattered houses
and put a mat at the door.

When you love a woman from Gaza,
you love a soul who has buried
too many loved ones
too many times
and still chooses life.