Portraits [Audio]
A woman leaned her back on a broken wall
her face a deep secret in her hijab
her eyes reddened with sorrow.
She remembered the charming beauty
of her now flaming city.
A week before the war,
she was a proud mother of two
a wife to a graceful husband too.
That day,
she was left a widow
a villoma shattered like a broken window.
In Rafah,
a journalist nearly drowned in
a flood of citizens’ blood.
And Al Jazeera reported it not
And the BBC reported it neither
They knew the world would see a nightmare—
of a bloody city and deserted homes.
In Gaza,
It's the dead who bury the dead
a day after God forsook Palestine
In trauma.
Redeem, redeem
but couldn't bear the cost of her existence.
I wish, I wish I could paint a portrait of
all I saw from the dark-to-dark corner of
Al Bureij, where they strum bullets
At refugees with little songs of grief.