Gaza’s Child

I am that baby, born with a sweet smile,
just like all other babies

I Love to be in my rustic cradle,
and cry louder,
so so louder that sometimes even the gunfire is heard no more.

Yes, I am that baby…from that tiny strip east to the Mediterranean,
you call it Gaza.
I don’t know the name,
I call it home..
A home where I learnt to take my life’s first mile, first word and even first laugh.

These Tiny fingers of mine, reached for the sun and the shining stars, to begin my journey called life.

In Gaza’s dusty alleys,
I learn to play, Chasing dreams that I thought never, ever, ever fade away.
But beyond my laughter, a distant sound,
A world divided, where tears abound.

Mama’s lullabies,
a comforting song,
Yet, in the chaos, something feels terribly wrong. Schoolyard dreams in the morning light, Fade away in the shadows of that fight.

I like the sound of pencils on my slate,
But in the rubble,
they meet a cruel fate. Innocence falters, yet
I try to stand tall, In this troubled land, where walls stand tall.

That playground, once alive with laughter and cheer,
That Playground,
where I played with my friends some day..
Now echoes with cries, a chorus of fear. Classmates, comrades, lifeless on the ground, Dreams shattered, silence the only sound.

My unborn sister,
My unborn sister remained unborn in my mama’s womb, she was bombed, along with my mother.
Oh, it pains that she can never see how we shine in the heat of Gaza sun, or get the flavour of my mama’s milk,
or see the round-white moon rising above the horizon.
I don’t see my father,
I heard he is lying headless on the sand,
I don’t see my home,
I just see pieces on the land…

Yes, I am Gaza’s child, with legs and hands so small, not long enough fight or run.
Here I fall, along with the night, I close my eyes,
As I fall into a deadly sleep, I might miss this dusty wind, this land were darkness never set, and will also miss my favorite toy, I call him Winnie, there is nothing else to miss..
Everything is dead here

Yes, I am Gaza’s child. And this is my home.
Yet, I fear to be born here again. To have born to die…I yearn for a haven, a gentler place,
A place, Where I can sleep on my mother’s lap, without the fear of dieing the next day..

(A Poem on Palastine)

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