A letter from Gaza

Mama,I'm dying...

Long long ago I saw the future.
There, at the abandoned refugee camp
spitting despair and smoking up better days.


I hope you bake your hands in bread.
I hope your hands are warm.

I smell ashes of my children sometimes,
I can't quite make out what the smoke whispers but I feel that it's
hopelessness.
I try not to listen.

Mama,I'm dying.

I fade away just like the letters that birds tried to draw in the sky, asking
for help,
but they bleed and fall down before they write "HELP" and instead it's just
"HELL".

I heard the soil choke on words and I decided to lay down and listen.
I know how bad it hurts when no one listens.

Mama, it got so heavy.
The pain is so heavy I will just lay here.

Mama, I'm dying.

I've been starving for months...
But then a little boy came and gave me some bitter bread.
He says he's from some camp.
He says it's dark and scary but they still give them bread, so he shares.

His mom reminds me of you.
She also has quiet dim eyes.
Her smile still holds some light.
It's not as bright as the yellow star on her coat.

Mama,

I'm dying.

I've been lonely for so long, but the boy comes and we lay on the ground, listen
and hold hands.
We don't cry.
We don't know how.

Sometimes we are so many people,here, on the ground.
A lot of us have wounds but we don't try to stop them from bleeding.

Nothing ever is about the blood.


Mama,I'm dying.

I've just been born today.


Nadia Al-Ahmad, Palestinian
Amherst, Massachusetts