Poetry
The Israeli genocide in Gaza has turned me into a poet. I never wrote poetry before until I became paralysed with what I saw, losing family members and my home. It was difficult to write fiction or drama, but poetry came to the rescue. It became my trusted companion that wiped my tears and smiled with me during very dark times. Here’s a sample of 5 poems.
To Gaza with Hope
I love you further
I love you more
Even with no buildings
Even with no cafes
I love you further
I love you twice
Once for your pride
And twice for your strength
Your Jabalia will be inside my heart.
I will write it on every beach and on bus stops
I will call my children Rafah, Khan Younis,
Nuseirat and Beit Hanoun.
I love you further,
Beyond what they say and their pain
Away from their tanks and hate speeches.
I will continue to each chilli like you taught me.
Tell jokes as you showed me
Love life the way you do
Be brave and resist
Keep hoping, keep dreaming.
I only ask you one thing,
Stay there, for everyone I love.
Rise
This is not a victory song
nor a promise of a storm.
This is not an aid truck
or silencing the drone,
not a call for ceasefire
or a protest outside parliament,
not an oath to rebuild
or visit
or…
a promise to find the remains
of my father and brother
which the tank dug them out of their graves
***
In Arabic we say
انتفض جسمي
With a strong “dha” letter
Which no other language has
My body has trembled
It’s risen
انتفض, ينتفض, انتفاضة
Intafadha, Yantafidhu, Intifadha.
This is the promise of the Intifadha
I will rise
I won’t forget
This will not feed my sister in Jabalia
Or protect my siblings in Khan Younis
This will not bring my displaced mother
Back to her destroyed home
This is an oath
That you, my jailer and abuser,
Will see me rise…will see me resist
To Khalid
(My brother who was Killed on 22 January 2024 by an Israeli airstrike)
Eternal is your name in Arabic
So stay immortal,
Beyond the borderlines of this world,
Beyond the pain, beyond what you have seen in Gaza
Beyond your child’s screams of hunger and fear
You will be in a smokeless, bombless place,
So wait for me, brother.
Be patient and don’t leave,
You are only allowed to leave once.
When I get there, I don’t want to see you sad or old
Angry or tired
Scared of bombs or big tanks
Frustrated or worried
Just stay as we were
Two excited lads
Wanting to play the Oud
And cycle to the beach
I will practice playing new songs
And I will show off
In the meantime, while you wait
You can find someone to teach them how to sand wood
To make beautiful furniture
Or teach the kids how to play marbles brilliantly
You can keep your big smile
As you busy yourself doing things for others
Like you have always done
Whatever you do, just stay there
I am coming, I won’t be long
I Search for You
I search for you,
I look for you,
In between the living
And in between the dead
Between the body parts
Between the rubble
In the news soundbites
And reports from refugee camps in Rafah.
I think of you and look for your name
On all news websites
And GoFund me campaign pages.
I once wrote your name on the sand of Gaza beach
With a love heart symbol and an arrow piercing it in the middle
An A and an N at both ends
You called me silly.
Where are the arrow and heart now?
I want to be silly again
Maybe, you could be reading this now
Maybe you are writing this poem
Maybe I dreamed all of this
Yet Still I Run
I run to you
From Khan Younis to Jabalia.
Steps entangled with three hundred thousand other feet.
All hurrying, Longing, dreaming.
A unified mass
A human avalanche
From South to North.
Inhale...exhale.
Parched mouths.
Smelly breaths.
But the sea breeze washes them away.
Only I have you waiting on the finishing line
Only I am composing lyrics in my mind.
I can’t make them rhyme
Or put words in a neat way.
I am thinking of metaphors
But the tents in El Mawasi kept my imagination.
I run and think…
Will you kiss my sweaty face?
Will you remember my eyes?
Rubble is everywhere
Dust.
From Wadi Gaza to Abu Mazen roundabout
My nose is pinched.
My heart is squeezed.
Yet I still run
---
Past Yasser Arafat’s Compound
Past the Shalihat
Where you and I once swam
And kissed for the first time
Rubble carpets everything
Past Al Azhar University
Where young lovers once stood
Dreamy faces of peace
Where you and I once led a demo
Nothing is left of it there
No beautiful people
No grumpy lecturers
No more noisy street sellers
Hassling taxi drivers
Falafel smell
Donkey carts
Yet still I run
To El Falouja in Jabalia Camp
Where they told me you would be
Nothing is familiar
I am losing my sense of direction
Yet still I run
Headstones
Broken olive trees
Tanks marks on the ground
Everything is dark.
The flowers in my hand look sad
I count
Two, three, four graves
Yours is the last on the right corner
They said.
Yet still I run
To the far corner.
I imagine you sitting under a tree
Smiling
Asking me why I was late
15 months late.
“Fuck Israel” I say loud
Yet still I run.
Yet I still hope to find your body one day