To our people in Gaza. To the dead and living.
Your cries and wails flood my entire house. Your bodies lie scattered and abandoned around me, in my sink, on top of my shelves, in corners, across the carpet, all over the floor, hanging from ceilings, limbs dangling, drooping, swaying. Lined one by one, thrown out one by one, tossed aside like shrapnel, piled one on top of another. Your faces follow mine, eyes closed tightly, peacefully, slightly, barely, wide open in horror, disbelief, and defiance. Food is tasteless. I drink the smoke and dust. I steal your air and watch you suffocate. I wash my hands yet still see blood and smell the stench of death, of fear, of desolation. My tears do not warm your bodies, and you remain dead. No time to mourn, no time to learn your names or your features, no time to count down your last seconds or find your missing limbs.
As the night nears, I slowly give in to my own weariness and abandon you. Forgive me for turning off the TV before going to bed. But for what it’s worth, I can’t seem to sleep.
May your names be learned, your faces remembered, your deaths mourned and your life rekindled. May our words reach those who are deaf. May we all finally find real, genuine peace within us. Inshallah.
Nada Dajani, Palestinian
Jerusalem, Palestine
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