Crouched amidst rubble, dreams lie shattered,
Twilight traces my dusty scraped knees, forlorn
Soothing to my chilled skin,
Only if it could heal me, heal us, our plight.
Demolished abodes echo anguished wails,
Grief, longing, terror lingers in the air’s embrace
Ghosts do not haunt the children of Palestine,
Presence of real monsters here forged us cold!
A nightly rite, my gaze seeks seven bright stars,
Grief’s tempests crash upon my heart’s shore.
In depths of misery, a silent tear weeps,
Will my voice ascend to the stars above,
To my family, do they remember me still?
How do I tell mother, now I can count up to ten?
Tears flee my closed eyes as dreams portend,
In my mother’s arm, solace fleeting yet so pure,
My fingers tremble, yet told seven stars should not be eightfold.
“You shall live, you shall survive
Your heart should be bold, not cold”
As the planes roar above, my body unfazed,
Their hum, a new lullaby, conceals growls in my stomach.
We young heartbeats, sleep with faith held tight.
Beneath this debris, our untold story survives,
With patience and persistence, a tale awaits to sail.
From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free!
Tanjila Tasnim is a private student.
