This collection, Letters to Gaza, is a chorus of voices from around the world—voices

that refuse to be silent in the face of injustice. These letters are addressed to Gaza’s
people, pain, places, and resilience.

They come in many forms: poems, drawings, songs, prose. Each one is an act of
solidarity, an offering of empathy, and a commitment to hope.

From November 29, 2024 onwards, as these words are spoken, sung, and shared
globally, they will carry Gaza’s story beyond its borders and continue enabling empathy
to be the centerpiece of action. They will remind the world of the humanity that persists,
the courage that endures, and the justice that must be demanded.

To those who wrote, and to those who will listen—thank you for being part of this
collective act of remembering, resisting, and dreaming.

With gratitude,
ASHTAR Theatre

For enquiries, contact:

Konrad Suder Chatterjee, Editor of this publication and Communications Officer & Resource
Developer at ASHTAR Theatre: [email protected]

Support ASHTAR’s fundraising for the Gaza Monologues Authors: Global Giving Campaign

1
Lullaby of Genocide
By James Roach

They embrace their dust-covered,

vacant-eyed babies.
Speak in prayer,
wail in agony,
look for exit wounds
on small bodies
to keep the blood inside,
its river soaking the streets.
Deep breaths don’t exist
between the heaving
and the torture of grief.
Their suffering is not lost
in translation, it’s right there
draped in the threads of death.
Jungle gyms of boulders
and buried families,
hospitals cut in half
with the blades of bombs,
starved infants die alone
among the lullaby of genocide.
The confetti of broken hearts
is no cause for celebration.

2
Convenient Empathy
By Elise Cummings

Every day
On social media
As I witness the posts
Of Palestine grief
I see these comments

“That’s just war”

“Actions have consequences
“Do you condemn Hamas?”

Sometimes I click through to their profiles

Trying to understand
What sort of person
Can be so detached
I scroll
Through their feed
And in between the cruelty
There are videos
Of injured animals being rescued
Charity appeals for a sick child
All shared with heartfelt sentiments of compassion
And yet
Somehow
They cannot extend this
To an entire group of people
I go back to the top of their profile
And in their bio I read
“Empath”
“Animal lover"
”Just be kind ”

Pretty words
Empty promises

3
You Died and I Survived
A Poem on Palestinian dual national survivors guilt in response to Refaat Alareer’s ‘If I must
die’
By Sarah Ollier

Like you asked I lived to tell your story,

the hope I promised lies under the rubble with your things,
But still I bought that cloth and strings.

I'm flying your kite, telling our stories far and wide,
Whilst knowing this pain, guilt and fury won't fully subside.

But by channeling this heavy weight,

I find space for love and hope to fight this hate.

Our memories lie crushed in the dust,

But new stories of justice are a must.

By the time this poem ends,

I've held up my side of the bargain of hope, my friend.

4
Blessing for the Children
By D'vorah K'lilah

You are stardust and starlight

thick mud and lilac honey
twirling and tumbling, a rock polished in ocean waves
You are a prayer the earth sings to itself
You are a prayer
The curve of a wing turning in flight
The curl of a fern unborn
The spilled seeds, half buried
The turning strand of web holding drops
You are crystal waters moving over granite and tiny points of sunlight reflected in it
the glint in mountain air and the flashing eye of a mountain lion
You are a leaf rubbing bark
a spark swaying from burning cedar
a bubble rising in a turquoise pool
a yellow flower centered in a red cliff wall
Prayers of the earth singing your prayer
You are a prayer, I, the Earth, sing to myself
And this is how I will bless you
As the crescent moon holds the morning star
Your laughter blesses me
As river caresses rock
You are my prayer
As trees sing to the sun
I will sing for you always
When wind dances with clouds
I will draw your name on the dark underside of stone
And drum rhythms of peace in the bark of olive trees
So that you may put your
Your feet on the ground and your back against the tree
And listen to the chant of my heart

5
More Dead and Gaza Moans
Song Video
https://youtu.be/DAy1HcVJ4a0
:
(Lyrics: Dave Lippman. Tune: Neil Young, Four Dead in Ohio)

Jet fighters and troops are coming

Apartheid has really grown
While westerners’ hearts are numbing
More dead and Gaza moans
Gotta get down to it
Settlement’s taking our town
Should have been stopped long ago
What if you knew us
And saw them blow up our homes
How can you run when you know?
Jet fighters and billions coming
Palestinians on their own
They’re losing their land and water
Israelis must now atone
Gotta get down with it
Indigenous people must live
Uprooting their trees is a crime
What if you lived in an
open air prison like us
How could you run when you know?

6
Lettera per Gaza
By Gionatan Samo

A te,
Non so come starai quando leggerai questa lettera, cosa starà accadendo, dove ti troverai di
preciso. Non so come ci si deve sentire onestamente dopo così tanta violenza che accade
giorno dopo giorno con la sola colpa di esistere. Sono stato fortunato in parte per non aver
vissuto questo tipo di ingiustizie direttamente sulla mia di pelle ma questo tipo di apparente
calma sta andando svanendo. Ogni giorno qualcosa di terribile succede nel mondo, non solo
dove vanno i giornali ma un po’ ovunque c’è ingiustizia, anche nel nostro piccolo.

Io penso di essermi reso conto di quanto fosse sottile questa linea tra lo stare bene e vedere
l’orrore quando ho parlato per la prima volta con lei, una tipa qualsiasi a primo impatto ma che
ne ha passate tante, più di me sicuro, ma forse più di tanti altri. Vedere gente morire attorno
a te, la tua casa distrutta, tutto per casualità e per lucro di pochi ricconi che ci vedono tutti
quanti come pedine da usare per i loro giochi. Fa male solo immaginarlo, fa male pensarlo,
eppure lei è piena di vita, sogni e speranze.

Nessuna situazione è totalmente disperata, provo a ripetermi anche oggi con gli sbirri che
hanno manganellato studenti a Pisa e Firenze solo perché protestavano per proteggerti, per
poterti magari un giorno incontrare e imparare della tua vita, esperienza, cultura, sapere i
tuoi sogni e le tue speranze. Ho paura ma mi dà coraggio vedere che non siamo i soli a
lottare, non siamo soltanto io e te ma siamo dieci, cento, migliaia, milioni di persone che
vedono l’ingiustizia e vogliono combatterla.

Ogni giorno nel mio piccolo la vedo, lei, e ci parlo e tutto diventa bello perché il suo sorriso
dà forza a tutti. Io spero di incontrarti nella stessa maniera e di vedere il tuo sorriso di forza e
coraggio quando finalmente riusciremo a vincere. So che puoi farcela, possiamo farcela e il
destino ci farà incontrare. Non vedo l’ora!

7
A Letter to a Blue Child of Gaza
By Megan Choritz

Dear Blue Child of Gaza

You were never meant to be that colour. You were never meant to die before your first
birthday. You were meant to be called by your name, but I will never know it. It cannot be
spoken by your family because they are all dead. You are blue because you are dead.

I am writing this letter to you, blue child of Gaza, because even though you are one of tens
of thousands of children blown up, bloody, smothered under rubble, sniped, maimed,
destroyed, it is the picture of you that will be in my mind until the day I die. I see your tiny
body, your perfect face, head, fat little hands. I will remember your body, bundled in warm
blue clothes. I imagine the terror and helplessness of being your parents who could not save
you, or themselves. Your only crime? Being alive in a world that has turned their back on
you. You have paid the ultimate price. And I am so sorry I could not have done more to
prevent your murder.

Yesterday I heard children walking down the road, where I live in Cape Town, South Africa.
They were laughing and eating ice lollies. They were alive and didn’t even know, because
why should they, that they were lucky, just to be walking down the street, and laughing.
Blue child of Gaza, I thought of you, and how you won’t ever get to do that. There is nothing
I can say to make this right. There is nothing I can do, except continue to fight for your right
to live, even though they have killed you, precious blue child of Gaza.

I think of your smile. I think of you sitting in a highchair eating breakfast. I think of you
falling asleep. I think of the countries that believe your murder was justified. I will never
forget. I will never forgive. Just know this, blue child of Gaza. Your death, your murder, your
blue body, keeps my thoughts unwavering. Palestine will be free. From the river to the sea.

8
Letter to Gaza
By Cheryl Mok

Thank you for your battle of love

Thank you, for you have freed the mourning dove

Your story is not ours to tell

Yet voices echo, wishful to break the spell
Since when breathing and weaving became prayers in hell
The sounds of whispered silence is where angels fell

Thank you for your trust in humanity

Only to be broken by brutality, barbarity, bloodthirsty society
And so does nature’s sanity

Your heart is the beat of life

Your heart is why humanity survive
If only their hearts revive
If only fire is ignited by fireflies
If only the river is not bleeding cries

May our hearts be with your hearts

May humanity awake with the seeds of arts
Long live Palestine, souls never apart
Long live Palestine, souls never apart

9
Dear Child
By Konrad Suder Chatterjee

Although your eyes are full of dates and olives,

so tasteful, so curious, and smart,

I'm afraid to say you've been killed like

a cockroach in the bathroom of their heart.

Though your mother had you as

a promising asset of your nascent nation,

the other removed you as a demographic

threat to their by force taken location.

Is it true that that mother

would rather see you dead

than... say "Stop!" to her son

trying to have you outbled?

For unchilding you, do I blame the state,

that mother, her son, or you?

How do I write your silenced story

that remains still yours and true?

Whom do I speak to for not telling you

about your damn right to remain silent?

How do I object to it without becoming

a burden, unnecessarily violent?

So... you see, Dear Child, I am an empty

distant promise, full of questions and doubt,

You, be better off, without me, singing

your own song out loud,

You, be better off without me, writing

your own resistance art.

Just don't forget your eyes are full of dates and olives,
so tasteful, so curious, and smart.

10
Pride
By Kala Samuel Babu Harsha

I don't know how I would react when someone claims my existence—a lie, stating that I should
not be here; this body, this land is not mine to decide. Someone far away comes to me and
screams at me—'this is not yours, it is mine,' 'this is not correct, this is wrong.' I suppose queer
folks, out of all, could comprehend this grief more than anyone.

Our existence is always questioned. I know they say you just cannot feel the pain of the
suffering but they forget that if you are human, the feeling of empathy comes to you naturally. I
am not the one who is in the midst of war; however, this does not stop me from speaking about
the people who are. Solidarity asks for a heart, not blood.

A letter to those stories that are now misplaced boxes of dreams. A letter to those memories
that are slowly fading away with the ruins in the air. A letter to those voices that are turned into
silence by the explosion. A letter to those eyes that stare at the sky, seeking freedom in the
leftover blueness of the clouds. A letter to those lips that thirst not just for water but for their
parted loved ones. A letter to those hands that held hands, arms that hugged someone just
before their roof fell.

I hope this letter goes to those who have grown wrinkles on their faces because of the pride of
their identity—that they are of Gaza, the land that belongs to them.

11
Letter to Gaza
By Maeve Caley

Dear the Gaza population,

We hear and see your pain that you are forced to endure. You have all faced the

unthinkable. In these times of suffering, please know that there are people from every part of the

world praying for you. People around the world are fighting for your safety through protests and

petitions. There have been donations to provide some sort of aid. As the people who want to

protect you, we will continue to act as your voice during these times. I know you are all facing

grief that is unexplainable. You are not alone. Even from across the world, people have put your

identities in their hearts. We are thinking of you. We are praying for you. We are fighting for you.

Continue to pray and focus on whatever good thing you can find. Even if it is small, like meeting

someone new. Remember the time will come when you are safe and there is no one to fear.

Millions of people are sending you love and comfort during this time. We will continue to fight for

your safety, while you focus on protecting yourself.

With love,

Maeve Caley

12
Lettre à Gaza
By Sylvie Jopeck

Gaza, la forte, la forteresse.

C’est ton nom, ton nom d’entre les âges.

Qui sommes-nous, nous qui t’écrivons?

Deux françaises qui ne connaissent la Palestine que par les rencontres faites au gré des
voyages, des missions d’étude, des enquêtes sur la francophonie palestinienne.
Deux françaises qui découvrent que la francophonie palestinienne est un récit à chaque fois
différent, une histoire personnelle racontée plus que vécue.
Deux françaises qui hésitent à t’écrire. Que dire ? Qu’est-il possible de dire ? Que
pouvons nous dire ?

Où es-tu, Gaza, la forte ?

Tu es dans ton histoire.
Tu es dans ton patrimoine.
Tu es dans ton espace réduit accroché à la mer. Tu es dans ton drame.
Tu es dans tes habitants.
Tu es dans tes exilés.
Tu es dans les images.
Tu es dans la quête, inaccessible.
Tu es dans les mémoires.
Tu es là où nous sommes.

Nous entends-tu, Gaza, la forte ?

Nous parlons la langue des amis.
Nous parlons la langue de l’ombre.
Nous parlons la langue secrète.
Nous parlons bas.
Nous parlons fort.
Nous parlons pour.
Nous parlons avec.
Nous parlons ensemble.
Nous parlons avec le cœur au bord des lèvres. Nous parlons au monde.

Que fais-tu, Gaza, la forte ?

Tu ne dis rien.
Tu cries.
Tu hurles.
Tu pleures.
Tu as le cœur au bord des lèvres.
Tu appelles.
Tu appelles encore.
Encore.
Encore.
Encore.

Et le reste est silence.

13
To the People of Gaza
By Braden Dunlap

Dear People of Gaza,

I may not know exactly what you are going through, but I do empathize with you and your
families. It is very heartbreaking to hear each day the news of more atrocities being committed
against your people, families being broken, and people suffering. You may feel alone and as if
no one cares, but the world is watching, and taking a stand for what is right. Many protests are
calling for a ceasefire, as well as the leaders of cities, and schools are all calling for a ceasefire
to stop the death and destruction of Gaza. People from all across the globe wish to support, and
pray for peace and recovery in Gaza. The leaders of the world do not represent the people and
it has been very evident through this very conflict. Again, I do not know personally what you are
going through, and I cannot begin to imagine the horrors, but we stand in solidarity with the
people of Gaza and all of Palestine and stand for justice, peace, prosperity, and freedom of your
people. The world is watching, and hears you.

14
A letter to Gaza
By Tina Strawn

Dear Gaza,
I dream about your freedom and joy every day.
I see us walking together hand in hand
Into healing waters for your people and mine
There will be much rejoicing and laughter again one day.
I will see you at the dance.
I feel it is important to tell you what is happening here. There is great debate, heavy and deep
and wide, about if this is a genocide or not. Many of us can’t believe our ears, our eyes, and our
own minds at the spectacle of ignorance. Their faces are like painted death clowns.
While the bombs are being dropped there, families are splitting apart here. We are tearing our
hearts open for you, bleeding your blood all over our parents and friends and the people we
work with. We force them to look at you by looking at us.
We are shattered watching you suffer and we feel helpless to stop the slaughter and starvation
you experience. We have taken to the streets by the millions. There are boycotts and protests.
Many of us have stopped paying taxes because we don’t want to contribute in any way to what
is being done to you. We will not pay for the weapons that slaughter your children. So very
many of us from all around the world, we want you to know that we see you and we will carry
your names, your lives, your voices as we sing your victory songs and pray for peace to come.
Never again! In your name! You have brought the world together. A courage you should not
have to have. I am ashamed of us. I want you to live as much as I myself want to live. And I
believe that one day, again, you shall.
We weep for your babies and for your elders. We do not want to grow old here without you. We
know that we are not free until you, sweet Palestine, are free. And because my liberation is
bound up with your liberation, I vow to remain forever connected to you, and to whatever will get
us through to the other side of this madness, this genocide, whatever will get us back to
Palestinian joy.
May I continue to feel as connected to the olive trees in Palestine as I feel connected to the
mango trees here in my backyard in Costa Rica.
May we continue to stay connected to anyone and anything that wrestles with the questions of
why does this blessed/cursed blood run through our veins and spill out from the river to the sea.
My commitment to a liberated Palestine, a liberated world from all oppression, is to not look
away and to stay connected to you, your pain, your struggle, in as many ways as I can...until all
oppressed people everywhere are free.
Palestina libre!

Until freedom,
Tina Strawn

15
Letter to Gaza
By Supriya Tyagi

16
Wishes for Gaza
By Maribeth Rubenstein

Mother
You are in a room
Dark and too small
Afraid
I see you
I want to open the door
You are screaming
Calls of anguish
I hear you
I want to soothe your throat
With cardamom tea and honey
You are crying
Tears of sorrow
I feel you
I want to wipe those tears with the softest linen
And hold you
You are thirsty
I want to fill your well with clear, cool water
You are hungry and cannot feed your baby
I want to serve you a feast of all your favorite foods
And your breasts to be filled with sweet milk
Your heart is breaking
I want to bring your family and friends to you
Safe and sound and whole
And make comfy seats for them next to a platter of dates
Under the shade of an olive tree
You are so sad
I want soulful musicians to play the music of your ancestors
Until your body vibrates with the sounds
You are angry
I want to witness your rage
You are bleeding
I want to bandage your wound
You are choking
I want to stop the bombs and bullets
So that you can breathe clean air
And rest
While your babies sleep in your arms
Like seeds on the head of a flower
With your petals gently wrapped around them

17
Smelling of oranges and wild hyssop
And love
Making the world more beautiful

18
Masacre de la harina
By Laura Diaz Ortiz

Mientras esperabas en la fila por alimentos,

tu cuerpo sediento y en los huesos,

el corazón roto y cansado,

te arrebatan la vida.

¿Cómo te llamas?

No sé tu idioma, te pienso en el mío ¿Amina, Lupita, María, Josefa, Rebeca, Patricia?

Rostro canela, grandes ojos, nariz erguida.

Abrazada por tu kufiya y un largo vestido.

La infamia crece: sobrevivir a las bombas, la pérdida de la familia, del trabajo, de la escuela,
parece que no basta; resistir al ataque de un pueblo vecino invasor transformado por el odio y
que te niega hasta lo más pequeño.

Buscando algo para paliar el hambre de tus hermanos de vida llega la ráfaga asesina que te
arrebata el aire, el suspiro, los pocos sueños, el hilo de vida que te quedaba.

No sé tu nombre, intuyo tu miedo, percibo el dolor, hambre, desesperanza…

Laura Díaz Ortiz Salgado

Maestra de Danza
Morelia Michoacán, México

Con gran respeto y amor solidario

19
Letter to Gaza
By Alexandra Monce

To the Dear Nation of Palestine,

Since October 7, the world has been aware of the massive shift in lives occurring
at this moment. Everyday, I watch the news and hear your cries for help. The news,
social media, and all types of media are covering the nation-wide event occurring. There
are boycotts, protests, social media posts, and petitions being put in order to make our
voices heard to the government to seek a ceasefire. As a young woman who wants to
be a part of change, I am educating myself as best as I can regarding the situation at
hand. I am also a nursing student and seeing the lack of medical attention and families
losing loved ones affects me greatly and I wish I could do more to help. It is situations
like these where I hope to assist others and hopefully make a difference. There is not a
day in class where we do not discuss the matter at hand, no matter how heartbreaking it
is. Being aware of the issues and tragedies that are happening open our eyes to the
real world. We understand that although times are hard, it is important to stay aware
and spread the messages that you are all telling us as best as you can. We hear the
frustration, cries, and pleading for help as we too pray for a ceasefire.I feel guilty
knowing that I am an American, living under a government that funds and supplies
actions I do not condone. Your voices are heard and you matter. There are numerous
articles, videos, and people that are capturing how crucial it is to address and solve the
issues you all are suffering from. We are aware of the situation at hand, and we are
doing the best we can to make a change. I pray that all issues will be solved. My heart
goes out to all the parents, children, and citizens who are suffering from this disastrous
event. From the bottom of my heart, I hope and pray that this will end and Palestine will
be free once and for all.

Sincerely,
Alex

20
Silent Cries, Empty Rage
By Yannaia Veale

The everlasting rage of a mother being torn from her newborn

The relentless aggravation of death clinging to your nose
Tell me where is the hope when bodies pile up without remorse
A child has lived a million lives in the span of months
Bombs littering the sky, but to them they’re fireworks
How much longer will the minority be silent
When the lullabies are no longer lullabies but are sirens
That pierce the ears of those who are forced to be kept noiseless
Until the day THE PEOPLE are free
Continue to be in an outcry; “To the river to the sea, Palestine WILL be free”

21
Letter to You
by Mia Dominguez

Dear Gaza victims,

In light of the shocking events that have devastated and tormented your community, I am writing
to express my sincere sympathies and condolences. My heart hurts for the loss you have
experienced and the enormous difficulties you are now facing as a result of the violence and
devastation that have occurred.

It is heartbreaking and difficult to lose loved ones, to see homes and infrastructure destroyed,
and to live in constant fear and uncertainty. Please know that there are people all throughout the
world that are in sympathy with you and share your sadness, so you are not alone in your grief.
To persist and cling to hope in the face of such insurmountable problems requires a great deal
of strength. Your tenacity is an example of the human spirit that never dies and is an inspiration
to all of us.

Please know that my prayers and thoughts are with you as you continue to strive toward healing
and navigate the challenging path ahead. I hope you are able to find moments of comfort and
support from those around you in the middle of all the suffering and misery. May you take solace
in the knowledge that you are not forgotten and that a large number of people are supporting
and caring for you. I want you to know that you are not suffering in silence and that a lot of
people are putting in a lot of effort to support and fight for your welfare and rights.

22
Dear Hope
by Jheannelle Witter

In a time of darkness, covered skies and loud cries

There are others across the ocean praying, hoping and releasing deep sighs
We know not your pain, but as humans we share the same ties
It is innate to want peace, love and harmony worldwide.

In a time of sadness, stillness and terror

Shouldn’t we help you the people of Gaza and your future?
You may ask why do we sit and allow this repeated “never”
It is time for us in the world to stand and come together.

In a time when hope seems far, we want you to hold on

As we fight pen to paper and words to screens, please do hold on
For the mothers, fathers and children - there is light at dawn
As all breaks, let mourning turn into morning and let peace carry on.

Today, writers write to spread the news, and now we write to share strength
We share our words from our heart’s length
Solidarity, harmony and love we hope will be tomorrow’s present
With peace, solitude and solace, from a concerned student.

23
To Gaza
By Allieyzza Marie

I am truly deeply sorry that you are experiencing these terrible acts, and for these many

months. No human should ever endure these experiences, nor should any other human

commit these acts onto another. I am sorry that the world has abandoned you, but there

are masses of people who believe in the Freedom of Palestine. There are people out

there who believe that your right to being alive is imperative, as they constantly spread

awareness and speak out in favor of a ceasefire. I am sorry to the children that were

born into this environment, and to the children that will grow up without their parents or

grandparents. I am sorry to the people who are in constant pain with no medical

assistance. I am sorry that this situation has escalated so far. Your culture will not be

forgotten. This situation will not be swept under the rug. There will be a moment in time

where Palestine is free. You will rebuild and regain strength. But the world sees you,

and we stand with you. Please do not believe these actions are in any way solicited.

You deserve all the kindness, and respect. As citizens of the Earth we all do.

24
OPEN YOUR EYES
By Joshua Bulaclac

How come the world has their eyes closed,

They act like everything is ok acting composed.
Not a few people but a whole country is dying,
We as a community need to help and stop the fighting.

Families are being torn apart each and every day,

The once colorful land of Gaza is now painted a sad gray.
A place once filled with happiness, peace, and hope,
They are now declining at a very steep slope.

Genocide is what is happening to the people of Palestine,

The clock is ticking, we’re running out of time.
While we sit comfortably in our homes and lay idle,
We could rise and band together to break this cycle!

You are not alone in this time of dire need,

We will not rest until all of you are freed.
Though it may seem that all hope is lost,
We too realize a line has been crossed.

No person should experience what you guys been through,

Time to flip to a new chapter and start a-new.
We hear your cries of help do not fret,
We will work together to solve this threat.

25
Letter to Gaza
by Elena Pham

Dear beloved friends of Gaza,

I hope this letter finds you amidst moments of peace and strength despite the

challenges that you may be facing. Although I am not of the Muslim faith, I would like to

wish you all a Happy Ramadan even though it may not seem like a “happy” occasion. I

write to you with a heart filled with empathy and immense pain. The struggles you have

endured are unimaginable and unbearable. Please do not lose hope during this dark

time. May Allah or God (for my non-Muslim friends) guide you through this hardship and

shed light and courage on you. I may never be able to understand how you may be

feeling but your resilience and determination shines brighter than anything. Whether it

be through raising awareness or simply offering a listening ear, please know that we are

here for you. We have not forgotten about Gaza and though this genocide has gone on

for way too long, please hold on to that hope that you have. It is incredibly difficult to see

a way forward but you are not alone. I hope that this letter helps you in any way

possible although we are very far away. That hope may be faint, but it is there, waiting

to be nurtured and cherished. I pray that there is a future of peace for those in Gaza as

well as the many lives of children that have been lost. Remember that you are strong,

resilient, and so incredibly brave despite all of the horrors you have endured. Please do

not give up. With immense love and solidarity,

Elena Pham

26
Letter
By Catherine Alvarado

My heart breaks for the babies, parents, doctors, aunts, uncles, authors, artists, and anyone

who is a HUMAN in Gaza. No one deserves to suffer how you guys are suffering. I can't imagine

what you guys are dealing with; being starved to death, and not being given water causing

dehydration which could eventually lead to death. I saw an article the other day that said you

guys think people have forgotten and don't care about Palestinians and what you guys are

dealing with. We care, acknowledge and try to spread awareness for a ceasefire. I don't want

you guys to ever feel forgotten. We feel for every mother who finds out that their child has died

in a bombing. We feel for every father that finds out his family is under all the rubble but dead.

We cry and feel sympathy for everything that is happening in Gaza. Please understand that you

are seen, and heard. You are seen around the entire world. We rally, we pray, we teach about

what is going on in Gaza. Sometimes I admire how much you guys still have so much faith. How

strong you guys are even with all the loss and mental trauma that is going on. The children that

have seen so much are probably never going to forget all the death they have seen. I'll continue

to pray and spread awareness to hopefully eventually have a ceasefire. You are loved, heard

and seen.

Love Cat,å

27
To Gaza
by Christian Blair Visto

Palestine, once a beautiful land

Now weeps and tears flow from underneath the sand
The Gaza streets where children’s laughter should resound
Now filled with anguish and sorrow, echoing all around

Tears continue to flow, neverending like bombs

Countless assaults with millions of lives in their palms
Homes and cultures are lost and torn
The attacks continue and our souls are worn

A violent genocide, one no one ever deserves

Men, women, and children die in return
Innocent lives are lost
Families torn apart, their cries unheard

Let us raise our voice, for those who can not speak
For those who are frightened, for those who are weak
We must heed the call for those who are oppressed
We stand with Gaza, we must fight back, we must protest

May justice prevail, and a cease fire be called

May peace prevail, and finally be restored
May humanity stand united, to end this so-called war
Free Palestine.

28
Never Forget
By Alexander Sarabia

To any and all Palestinians,

I am not someone who can relate to the atrocities that are occurring in your homeland, I
am simply a college student in America. I, and many of my colleagues, are aware of the
genocidal intent Israel has shown since the start of this whole ordeal. I wanted to tell you that
despite how it might seem, that the world does not care, that everyone has forgotten about
Palestine and all its people, I am here to tell you that we have not. We constantly have you in
our thoughts and prayers and I can speak for myself and many, many other college students.
There is not a single week, or day, that individuals my age do not share news or other sources
of information on social media about events and stories coming from Palestine, and there are
many individuals who do this. Not only this, but many of us have also been boycotting large
companies that have shown support for Israel, and we know it's working because they have lost
millions. I hope that you can see that even we as busy college students, will still find ways to
fight back against this ongoing genocide. The message we are sending is clear: that we do not
support Israel, and we do not affiliate with anyone who does because we will not stand for
genocide and, although we might not be able to directly stop Israel from attacking Gaza, or
anywhere in Palestine, we can spread the malicious activities that they have carried out against
your people. We will not stop until everyone in the world, including the US, sees Israel for who
they truly are: monsters. We will continue sharing stories, we will continue boycotting, we will
continue protesting, and above all, we will never forget about your people because they are all
individuals, each with their own story, with their own hopes, with their own dreams, and we
deeply sympathize with this because we too are no different and no one deserves to be met with
genocide. I am here to tell you to not lose hope. Do not lose hope because the world does not
stand for genocide, we will not let it happen, it will be stopped, and one day too, from the river to
the sea, Palestine will be free.

Sincerely, Alexander

29
Those of us
by Casnel Thomas

Although these times are filled with despair

Just know that those of us are here

Those of us who keep you in our hearts

Our prayers, and thoughts will not depart

Those of us who know and care

Who sympathize and are aware

Of who you are and what you mean

Your and hopes and dreams, how bright they gleam

So think of us, and know we know that we think of you too

And look to the horizon to get another view

Of those of us who stand with you

30
Poem to Gaza
by Camille Thoennes

In the feeling of fear and isolation

We reach our hands out to you

Your cries do not go unheard

Not your stories unread

In fear we find our strongest hopes

31
A letter in parts to Gaza
By Isha Kathuria

32
A Letter to Gaza
by Anam Qureshi

Never in my life have I ever felt so desperate and helpless at the same time. I wake up
every morning alive, and I feel guilty to be alive. Why do I deserve to live while
thousands of Palestinian people are being murdered? Then I ask myself, if I and all the
other people around the world who think and claim to be alive, all the people who have
the privilege to not have been killed, aren’t we all already dead in spirit if we’re not doing
anything, saying anything, fighting against the absolute breach of humanity that has
been happening not just since The past six months but since more than six decades.
Can we claim ourselves to be human enough if all of humanity has been lost within us,
as if we have failed even as humans?

Today I’ve come here at Leaspread Theatre to give an account of my humanity.

I have come here more for myself than for the people of Gaza — I’m not an artist who
could bring about revolution through my art like Tay or Tonto.
All I can do is do the bare minimum as a human and speak up, raise my voice and try to
amplify this small voice of mine so that it reaches Palestine and they know that I, Anam,
am still human, that I am with them, and even though I will probably never be able to do
anything bigger, more tangible, and more important, I will support them.

I will always be accountable to them for my humanity and will always try to be
responsible for it and give account of it by whatever means available to me — until I
stop being human, until I take my last breath, until I die.

I must live to tell the story of Palestine, and I’ll only stop telling this story when I’ll stop
living.

33
I am just writing.
By Chaity Bhatt

I don't think I have anything more to do. We say we have the same skies but I don't fear
bombs every time I look up.

It also breaks my heart to be sitting down one day and writing a letter, to you, to Gaza, to
people who are losing everything and still going on with hope, with faith, with resistance!

I know it's not just land or people or houses that make a place, it is the songs, the poems, the
stories, the lullabies, the dance and delicacies!

I am sitting under a neem tree listening to birds and for all I know, the birds have stopped flying
over Gaza.

It is an irony that the place that bandages the world with cause is left to just patch itself up.

I see videos everyday of mothers holding dead children, of people desperately digging fallen
houses with their bare hands hoping for some life underneath. I see men holding their
children, praying as they live for the next hour, it is not poetic anymore and it needs to stop.
We need to stop. We need to stop hoping and relying on the fact that someone else will do it,
that some god will do it, that the UN will do it, that someone someday miraculously will do
something and this will stop.

It angers me, pains me, hurts me and its words to feel like we cannot do anything but hope and
pray.
But we hope we pray and write. We write what we see, what was being said, what was heard,
we write the words of resistance, we write poems and we write songs.
We paint the resilience and we fill our drawings with colours so that we see a little of red some
yellow a bit of all of green and whole lot of blue to be reminded the world still bright there is still
a little light in me and in you

The colourful birds that sing and all those olives on the trees, to be reminded that homes were
once filled with colourful curtains and love and laughter, a whole lot of ocean blue, that
carried the winds of courage and resilience and that red blood ran through the blood streams
of people full of warmth all of which is grey now.

But there will be fire,

there will be life!
we will sing and we will dance again,
we will breathe free, fresh air
we hope we pray that from the river to the sea Palestine will be free and only then, the world
will be free
until then, we sing songs of resistance, we shout out slogans of resilience, draw, paint, dance
the dabke and mark our presence.
show up, that we were there, we saw, we lived through it, and we

34
survived! you survived!
we write, we educate, we empower,
we leave it for the seeds we plant
and for that children that sprout,
we leave behind a world, with love, light, colour, and warmth, a world with
peace -with love, hope and strength

Chaity

35
Genocide Seminar Letter
By Laisa Robles

Dear People in Gaza,

Ever since Gaza was attacked by the Israel Defense Force, I feel sad and mad
that you have to endure their attacks every day while Israel decides to take away your
homes, rights, and freedom to live. They sometimes celebrate and they win like it's
some type of game. They decided to send aid like military weapons to destroy your
homes and your historical places. It is wrong because they wanted to build homes for
themselves and erase your history. I would hate it if one of the countries decided to
destroy my home country for their selfish desires.
I am mad at the world leaders, especially the United States, for not calling a
ceasefire or finding a solution to stop Israel from attacking you. Some leaders think what
Israel is doing is justified because of the Hamas attack and rescuing the hostages.
Some leaders are not trying hard enough to stop Israel from attacking you and
destroying your home country. Even though some of the world leaders like the United
States President, England Prime Minister, etc. supported Israel, the people in those
countries supported you guys by protesting and boycotting companies that support
Israel. We know what Israel is doing is wrong because seeing your families being killed
and your homes being destroyed when people took videos or livestreams.
I hope one day these attacks will be over soon. I pray to God to help the world
leaders to open their eyes and see what Israel is doing that is called genocide. The
world leaders should have sent aid to Gaza instead of Israel. I hope the images and
videos capture what is happening in Gaza so everyone can see it and open their eyes
and hearts to reach out to help. I also hope that Israel is being held accountable for their
actions and reparations for you

36
Dear Palestinian Resilience
By Nur Hikmah

Dear Palestinian resilience,

How are you? I hear of you all the time. I want to wish you are well but I don't think you are. I
hear of you all the time. People speak of you in awe and respect, but you sound tired on their
lips.

How have you been? It must be difficult for you. How long have you been around? There are
people and governments who lie to themselves about how old you are, but I first saw you when I
was a young child watching the news about Israel attacking and drowning an aid flotilla to Gaza,
so you must be older than Oct 7. I still remember her name, the ship, Mavi Marmara. I saw you
in the news then. You definitely looked older than Oct 7.

Have you been eating well? You put on such a brave face everyday but your eyes tell me you
haven't enjoyed a single meal — not even a decent one — for decades. If you can find a quiet
moment, try to savour a fruit or two. When was the last time you had one?

Do you remember what it was like to close your eyes and bite into your favourite food, which
can be something as simple as bread dipped in oil, which I know you will agree to be delicious.
Do you remember how it would taste as you sit in silence, the cool breeze on a cloudy day
making kisses on your face? I don’t know if you can remember how relaxed you were, muscles
unclenched. Not tense, completely relaxed. Do you remember?

If you can find a quiet moment, take in a few deep breaths and relax your jaw. Release the
tightness in your chest and just breathe.
I know those quiet moments don't come around often enough.

One day you will be free. Free to rest, free to relax and free from the burden that tires you, pulls
you down. One day you will be free.

Thinking of you,
Hikmah.

37
A controversial piece
By Elisa Brunelli

Can a piece about peace be In totalita’

controversial? And a piece about Which means:
intifada? We cannot rest till we are all free.
That might be.
Lying down, overthinking, So the first time
Cuddle the drama I write a flier:
Intifada. Viva viva Palestina!
A controversial piece for a controversial topic. I am seventeen
The chest tore apart by
I am sitting in my room injustice And cheeks full of
Outside is raining tears
A lot, like really a lot. I count again
‘The sky From one till four
Is crying.’ Occupation no more.
Cheesy
I want to write a piece about And the first time
Palestine. It's difficult though. I hold her hand,
A lot, like really a lot. kissed by the sun in a packed
‘My hands are shaking plaza, I am eighteen
My heart is crying.’ We are young
Cheesy And we scream again
But is it? Against the displacement
Against the institutions
The first time And their absence.
I hug myself in a kefiah That silence
I am fifteen KILLS.
I read a letter on a lamp post
With a horror story on it A young heart filled up with
It’s about the Nakba ideals, Teenager eyes with
burning tears. We stand against
I listen to the reports colonization With love for the
From the West bank, from Gaza, world
It’s colonialism running free In communion.
In the years 2000 something Our voices are loud and clear.
We are eighteen, and we are
Then the first time sure: There is nothing
controversial.
I write a poem about Palestine
I am sixteen
It is October 2023
And what I type sounds more or less like
this: Il mio cuore piange I wake up I read
Un singhiozzo sordo I don’t post anything.
Mi strozza The first sit in
Non possiamo riposare I have an overlap in my
agenda: I skip it,
Liberta’ e’ solo

38
I am here trying to heal my shit. side You know
That hearing silence hurts
I read little, A lot, like REALLY a lot.
swipe all the videos with crying
kids I am swamped by anxiety The first time I am left alone
I cannot deal NOW with this I am nineteen.
I am young,
It is October 2023 you were a friend
Bombs are flying, kids are I’m crying, it’s disgusting,
dying EVERY DAY. The shower washes my tears
No electricity, no water, no I feel dirty, I am freezing
gas Yet a bomb on an YES I was flirting, BUT then shouting
hospital
And then another one Are you sure? It’s complex
and another one. Are you sure? The truth always lies in the
middle. Are you sure? It’s controversial.
My Israeli friends
are saying that this is really It is October 2023
complex, We shouldn’t talk of two And I start again to scream
sides. But are we? Because we cannot rest till we are all
It is October 2023 free. But today
It’s too early to talk about genocide Outside it’s raining.
Ethnic cleansing A lot, like really a lot.
-Or maybe it’s already too late It is a commensurate response
I am drawn in my drama, my trauma After a terrorist attack
It’s so difficult to take action. If you state otherwise you are supporting
But is it? Hamas. Am I?

A friend of a friend slaps my face: If you scream too loud

Western feminists, 5 6 7 8 Israel terror state
We don’t hear your scream You are silencing Jewish grief.
You are leaving us alone in this! Am I?

Recognizing bad use of privilege It is November 2023

hurts a lot, like really a lot. I want to write a poem about Palestine: A
Yes it hurts, but who? Me? controversial piece for a controversial topic.

Reflection, feminism and Let’s not be that political,

intersection. How many times I’ve The truth lies always in the middle,
heard: Silence is a considerate path to
It’s a bothering topic follow. But is it?
I don’t have time to read about it
And in the end you know, It’s too complex to say something,
It is not really about me. Do not hurt the sensibilities,
It’s polarising to take a position.
Realizing that’s how I am acting But is it?
today It’s a cold caress on my face
It’s more than one month
Because if you stood on the other that the war started.

39
But is it one month? It’s not that controversial, isn’t it?
Or seventy five years?
But is it a war?

It’s not even a conflict

This is genocide!
Ceasefire NOW!
Stop the ethnic cleansing!

In a system with an unequal power situation If

you don’t speak up
You stand with the oppressor.
Let’s hold hands
And scream again
Loud and clear:
Palestinians have to be free.

Intifada.

40
I know not.
By Simon Capelle

I know not the land the days the hours

of shadows and sorrows for I have seen of joy
in many dreams and blooming flowers.
the land of light
white and green My daughter smiles
and the sky bright in the glimpses of
as the smile of the past.
my daughter.
I know not
She sat next to me where she rests
in the dawn of life where she speaks
her mouth filled where she is.
with words
flowing like water springs when the snow is My daughter sings
melting. like a bird
passing in the sky.
"Is that a bird ?"
Said she. I know not
the end of pain
"I know not" the beginning of silence.
was my answer.
For one day I will
For who am I sleep in the green fields of blossoming
to tell light.
which one is a bird
and which one is not "Are you a bird ?"
which one is death will my daughter ask.
and which one is not
which one is peace "Perhaps"
and which one is not ? will the answer be.

I know not the years

41
To the People of Gaza
By Naomi Bah

Dear Gazans, dear Palestinians, dear Siblings,

I am writing to you today, to make sure you know that you are not alone.

Of course I don’t want to deny the reality that you are facing hell on earth on your own and that
the global ruling class completely turned their back on you and is not doing anything to stop it!
So I can only imagine how alone you must feel in this nightmare. But I want to assure you that
we the People, the masses of this world stand behind you, firmly and more committed than
ever. Your cause is our cause and we won’t stop fighting until this Genocide is over, until
Palestine is free.

The world is awakening and the global South is rising. The injustices you and oppressed people
all over the world have suffered and endured, were not in vain. Your martyrs didn’t die in vain.
Your land wasn’t destroyed and taken from you in vain. It can’t be. We cannot allow it to be.

A Palestinian friend of mine told me: „The struggle between Good and Evil will stay as long
humanity stays. Hopefully one day the Good will be as organized as the Evil is in this world.“
And that’s the role we have to play here in the West: We have to mobilize and more importantly
organize, so that our collective struggle for the Good - the liberation of all Peoples by all
means necessary - will win!

I know I can’t offer you much solace, so the only thing I can do is to promise you my dedication,
my commitment and my determination to struggle for you, alongside you & with you until we
win. And Victory shall be ours.

Every night I go to bed and pray for you so lastly I want to share my prayer with you: „To the
People of Gaza“
~I pray for your Safety and Protection, the Safety and Protection of your loved ones and each
and everyone who makes Gaza your home.
May Allah grant you ease.

~I pray for all your Martyrs. I pray that there is a better place than this world and that they
have reached it by now.
May Alla make them People of Jannah.

~I pray for all the souls that still have to leave this world. I pray that your transition will be
painless, effortless and peaceful. And I pray that you will be reunited with your loved ones. May
Allah grant you ease and make you People of Jannah.

~I pray for the People in the occupied West Bank, the People in occupied Jerusalem and the
rest of historical Palestine. This is about all of you. I pray for all of your Safety & Protection, all
of your rights, your freedom, your dignity and your liberation.
May Allah make us a generation that witnesses a free Palestine and a Palestine that will
free us all.

Amen.
In Love and Solidarity, Naomi

42
My Letters Stamped with Bloods in the Hands of Freedom Fighters
By Ahmad Tajuddin Ismail (Angelo Taj)

Gaza, years ago I lived with you in a love language that only few people knew. It is when they
read the stories of Mahmoud Darwish fall in love with Rita, an Israeli woman who is Jewish.
Jewish, long time ago they had the most beautiful love language before part of them are Zionist.
Gaza, years ago I saw your skies in chromatic blues, blueish that only God told me it is a gift. A
gift that no one understands is the skies that melted like honey, a place that flowers will die for.
When I see the skies from a hill, I see you knitting all the happiness to the believer of God's
words. Gaza, years ago I listened to the music from the tambourine. It is sizzling the sound of
your crescent. I guess it is time for me to move on, from all the memories and the fact that there
is no Ramadhan. I but I know, God fulfills all the hungriness to the emptiness, with sweetness of
unrejected du’a. Gaza, years ago I believed in the existence of a gold bullet is to determine
everything or nothing. I don’t believe it is to determine death or survival for innocent souls.
Existence is a place that uncoffined like a treasure box where God put all the happiness as the
glitter to all the unwanted tears. It is heaven. Gaza, years ago I waited for the sound of freedom,
I wished that freedom would have a safe sound, I thought about what is the fantom and
phantom of freedom. I know freedom is a love language that does not need blood as the trade
to all the chaos creatures. In ravenous longing, freedom is solitary. Gaza, years ago I knew you
breathe free. The autumn, the season where the sun sets down. To the river, to the ocean, to
the life unbordered and uncuffed. Your soil, it is the color of soil, it is the skin of your people
redness under the struggle and snatched by times they knew they were disappeared. Gaza,
years ago I counted how many new buds blooming in April, how many couples found their love
in September, how many rains will fall in November. By the day the new buds become home of
bees, it is the day spreading until angel wings unfolded, until mercy comes. Dear you, beloved.
Gaza, years ago I thought that life is short to worry about. Life is a love language that beautifully
speaks love as a heart that pounds God every time it’s beating. Life is a burning thing but in
God's words, it is blazing. My letters stamped with blood in the hands of freedom fighters, that is
all. My love that I will remember as the words of Gaza, that one day will shine in the ruins and
fires. In my country, behind the bars of unity, Gaza will be free, Gaza will be free, Gaza will be
free.

P/S − Angelo Taj, from Malaysia with love.

Wednesday, the day of freedom, March 20, 2024.

43
Awakening
By Courtney Townsend

My Dearest Gaza: Beloved Children, mothers fathers, families, friends

As I sit down to write these words, I can feel the weight of how empty and somehow
meaningless my effort to write this letter is. An effort amongst my daily tasks, my children, my
struggles of being a single mother and living in Canada with an atrocious cost of living…and
then I realize at least I have THOSE as my struggles…at least I HAVE children…at least I
HAVE a home… and nothing I write will or could lift the pain and the nightmare of what the
occupation and the powers of the world have inflicted on dear, beautiful Palestine ... .this
ancient, beautiful land that Palestinians are connected to, and that I don’t believe will ever truly
be lost. I watch my brothers and sisters here in the diaspora sink into various modes of
depression, action, passion and freeze. I likely will never truly understand the depth of your
struggles as Palestinians, but know that my empathy flows like a river, and my heart bleeds
endlessly for you. When I wake up and do what before seemed like mundane tasks, making
breakfast or driving to school, now defines my attention in a different way….because everything
I do, I do with Palestinians and the children of Gaza inside of me. I will never be the same ...
.and I know you have changed the entire world ... .somehow this has happened ... .nobody in
Canada, not many really knew about Palestine, or the previous wars, I barely knew the details
myself, and yet now everybody knows and loves you Gaza. You woke up the world, you
sparked a global movement. But I’m not sure the movement is worth it if it means your
nightmare continues for one more day even. I don’t know what the larger plan is, but I guess
that is where faith enters, and you have much deeper faith and relationship with your creator
than I ever have. You inspire me. You inspire me. You open me. And you let me feel feelings I
have never experienced. I mourn and I cry with you. I feel rage, sacred rage, anger,
powerlessness, I wish for so many things. I let my rage move me to do meaningful, helpful
things from here in Canada…but I want to scream at some people...to make them feel horrible
for not doing more…I can't understand it sometimes.

Im reaching out to each and every one of you in solidarity, in spirit, my spirit and tears drip onto
the screen of my phone… and so I do everything I can here in Canada…I talk about you, I
protest for you with your relatives, I put pressure on my government, and I cry more, and I talk
to my children and show them everything, and I cry more.

In the midst of chaos and despair, your resilience shines like a beacon in the darkness. Each
day, as you navigate through the rubble of shattered dreams and broken promises, you display
a courage that defies all logic….you are the definition of resilience and true resistance which
cannot be separated from liberation. And then I learn that this resistance and resilience has
been going on for almost a century on your beloved land…this horror has not only happened to
you, but to the land and all the living parts. I watch documentaries on Deir Yassin, and 1948
Palestinians, I watch films like Farha and cry unconsolably, I learn about people like Khader
Adnan and Ghassan Kanafani and Mahmoud Darwish and Ahed Tamimi. And so many others
both historical and contemporary. I don’t think I have ever learned so much, so concentrated,
with such enthusiasm, as I have since October 7 2023. I know so much about Palestine and its
people now…and I'm so so grateful and happy I know. I also say Gaza properly…I try to say it
from the back of my throat, which is closer to my heart. I'm inspired and moved by every detail
and new piece I learn about Palestine, its people, its culture, its beautiful parts. And I'm even

44
inspired by resistance movements such as Hamas, because I can't say that I might not do the
same if I lived through what the people of Gaza have lived through and witnessed through the
generations. And I have learned so much…and I have decolonized my mind, and I continue to
question everything and learn some more.

I wish I could be there to stand with you, to hug you, to be exposed to death as you are, at least
that would be a meaningful use of a human life…from the outside, from the western world and
its colonial death machine sickness that seeps into everything and everywhere…it seeps into
Palestine.

Your unwavering spirit is a testament to humanity. Palestine is a call to the entire human race.

So many worlds lost, each individual murdered, is an entire world lost, an entire potential, and
someone’s everything. The echoes of loss, the screams of anguish, and the silent tears shed in
the dead of night when I look at the sun here, and in the shining sun, when I look up at the
moon here…and I think of you….these sorrows, these unending tapestries of sorrows weaved
into the fabric for generations to come…its too much to bear. My heart aches as I imagine the
innocence of children stripped away by the horrors of conflict. The laughter silenced, the
playgrounds deserted, and the skies tainted with the smoke of destruction—they serve as stark
reminders of the cruelty of our world. We yell and demonstrate, we continue, through the days
the months, and yet those in power are not listening…and I wonder if a human heart can
completely burn out through a sick life of power and greed, maybe its possible they just don’t
feel anymore…otherwise, how could they? How do they sleep at night? How do they interact
with their children, grandchildren, how do they not see the faces of Palestinians in every face
they look back at?

Yet, amidst the chaos, there is beauty to be found…maybe… there is still always beauty. It is in
the laughter of children playing amidst the ruins, the kindness of strangers offering a helping
hand, and the flicker of hope that refuses to be extinguished. But I know there is chaos and
survival there too…..

And know that you are not alone in your struggle. (God how stupid that sounds) But! There are
millions of souls across the planet who stand in solidarity with you, yearning for a world where
Palestine is FREE.

In the end, it is love—the most powerful force in the universe— that will triumph over hate. So,
let us love fiercely, forgive generously (but also demand justice) and embrace each other as
fellow travelers on this journey called life...in our thousands and millions, we are all
Palestinian….LOVE will win…we will not stop…we continue to fight for Palestine, and we will
continue in this deep love, as we know that this fight is rooted in truth…

Oh!!!!!! People of Gaza, People of Palestine..you are the heart of this awful, beautiful and
mysterious world.

Ohh!! People of Palestine, we will continue to resist and fight with love…our voices, our spirits
our bodies carrying us grow stronger and louder and our passion for you calls for others to
join…we rise against this genocide, and the ongoing Nakba, we
rise against oppression and injustice, we rise against the destruction of the land, we rise
against racism and fascism and power structures that allow these atrocities to happen…we
rise against the hurt people merely unleashing their own hurt onto others, although in the
most brutal ways imaginable…

45
And thank you for providing the rest of us an opportunity to understand who we are in this
world, for planting the seeds of LOVE that are RIGHT NOW turning into the greatest forms
of justice and truth that we may witness in our lifetimes.

From the River to the Sea Palestine Will be Free. Gaza!!…..Gaza!!….Gaza!!

Long Live Palestine

I love you.

Assalamu Alaikum

.‫ لكن قلبي وانتباهي موجهان نحوك‬،‫ من الجانب اآلخر من العالم‬،‫أنا أحبك وأنا هنا‬

46
 ‫تدون الخسارات‬
‫لمالئكة ّ‬
‫‪By Tahani Abuarra‬‬

‫تتركوها وصور طفولتها‪.‬‬ ‫المالئكة تدوّ ن الخسارات‬

‫تهاني سوالمة‬
‫ماذا ّ‬
‫تبق من حقائق الزمن؟‬
‫لقد صرنا عي ّنة تجريبية‬ ‫كل ليلة‬
‫في مختبر الضوء البرتقالي‬ ‫غزة أ ّنها تغرق‪،‬‬
‫تحل ُم ّ‬
‫لخدمة تجربة؛‬ ‫من بعيد‪ ،‬يبدو العالم كلّه‬
‫هالك مليون حقبة بشرية‬ ‫ألواح خشبية هائلة وعائمة‪.‬‬
‫في نفس العام‪.‬‬ ‫غزة على تابوت واسع‪.‬‬‫تصحو ّ‬

‫تستمرُّ المالئكة بتدوين الخسارات‬

‫األحالم المقتولة؛ هل يمكن تحقيقها؟‬
‫خسارات تجربة تقتلنا حزنا ً على الوحيدين‪،‬‬
‫ذات ظهيرة شبه آمنة‬
‫الرجال الحزينين‬
‫خرج أربعة صِ حاب وسط فراغ‬
‫وإسرائيل تكرّ ر التجربة لع ّل‬
‫الدمار‪،‬‬
‫الغياب يأكل المدينة‬ ‫بحثوا عن بقايا بيوتهم‬
‫لكن ّ‬
‫غزة ستبقى مثل البحر‬ ‫بعد عشرة دقائق‪ ،‬ينهض الموت‬
‫ّ‬
‫غزة جاءت مع البحر والحريّة‬ ‫للصحو برفقة الطائرة المٌّسيرة‪،‬‬
‫وترحل مع‬ ‫تقول األسطورة أنّ بيوتهم خرجت تبحث عنهم‬
‫الماء وفناء السالم‪.‬‬ ‫ّ‬
‫المجزأ‬ ‫آخرهم سار نحو موته‬
‫مغمضا ً عينيه‪:‬‬
‫كانت تريد الشمس‬
‫لماذا أرسلتمونا مب ّكراً إلى ك ّل هذا النوم؟‬
‫أن تشرق من الغرفة‬
‫المجاورة لسجنها‪،‬‬
‫لكن على األقل؛‬
‫كانت تريد صباح الخير‬
‫أال يمكن أن تدعونا وحدنا في سجن‬
‫قالوا أنّ الشبابيك مفتوحة‬
‫عليّة هذه األرض؟‬
‫لكنّ المواطن الصالح غير‬
‫لم تكن تريد ّ‬
‫غزة أكثر من أن‬
‫موجود‪.‬‬

‫‪47‬‬
 ‫ال بأس أن ّ‬
‫تدخني بشراهة‬ ‫الحرب؛ وما من أحد يستطيع‬
‫وأن تتلفظي بألفاظ نابية‬ ‫أن يوقفك اآلن‬
‫هذا الكون ٌ‬
‫بيت ميّت‪.‬‬ ‫كم من السنوات واأليام‬
‫ستكشطين من شباب هذه‬
‫هل يمكن أن يموت اإلنسان‬
‫البالد وأنت تضحكين!‬
‫من الجوع؟‬
‫تفرضين نفسك مث ّل الحبّ‬
‫منذ خمسة أشهر والخيال يقول‪:‬‬
‫والكره‬
‫نعم‪.‬‬
‫وتشبهين األبدية‪.‬‬
‫ّ‬
‫غزة‬
‫أريحا؛‬
‫صديقاتك يكبرن بسرعة‬
‫الحياة هنا تسير بشكل طبيعي‪،‬‬
‫ويهجرنك‬
‫الجيران البعيدون يحتفلون بواحدة من قصور البلد‬
‫وأنت تكتبين نصا ً طويالً‬
‫يوزعّون األغاني التي كنا نسمعها قبل‬
‫عن المخاض‬
‫السابع من أكتوبر‬
‫بدالً عن ك ّل األبناء الذين‬
‫وأنا أف ّكر بالموت الذي صرت أعرفه‪.‬‬
‫تحلمين بهم‪.‬‬
‫الحياة هنا تسير بشكل طبيعي‪،‬‬
‫الرجال صاروا يبحثون عن الخبز في حاويات القمامة‪،‬‬
‫أي ّتها المدينة الزرقاء‬
‫الرجال الذين كانوا يعملون لدى العدو جوعى اآلن‪.‬‬
‫برقبتك التي تسيل دما ً‬
‫ربما كان رجل الدين الذي أخبرهم‬
‫حارّ اً صاعداً‪،‬‬
‫أنّ العمل لدى العدو شيء جائز‬
‫مثل شمس صغيرة‬
‫‪ -‬ألنّ هذه البالد كلّها لنا‪ -‬يسخر منهم‪.‬‬
‫تريد أن تموت حتى‬
‫الحياة هنا تسير بشكل طبيعي‬
‫تبكي وراء البحر والجبال‪.‬‬
‫لك ّنني غالب الوقت ال أصد ّقها‬
‫فارغ يجلسُ الحبّ‬
‫ٍ‬ ‫على مقع ٍد‬
‫وأف ّكر كيف يمكن للموت أن يجلس هناك‬
‫وجواز السفر ونشرة أخبار العالم‬
‫على بعد مئة واثنان من الكيلومترات‬
‫تحكي عن ك ّل األقاصي‬
‫مرّ ة واحدة كلّه في ٍ‬
‫آن واحد‬
‫سوى جرحك الذي ال يلتئم‪.‬‬

‫‪48‬‬
 ‫ليس بوج ٍه واحد‪،‬‬
‫يجلس بدون وجه‪ ،‬يملك الوجوه كلّها‪.‬‬
‫وعلى الضفة المقابلة يد القاتل الذي يملك ك ّل الشرّ ‪،‬‬
‫يحترق الزيتون ويبقى المواطن المسكين‬
‫يحمل جمجمته بيده مقابل كيس طحين‪.‬‬
‫نحن آثمون؟‬
‫ال شيء يحدث‪ ،‬ال شيء من ك ّل هذا الموت‪،‬‬
‫نحن فقط نتخيّل‪.‬‬

‫‪ ٢٣‬آذار‪٢٠٢٤-‬‬

‫‪49‬‬
Untitled.
Submitted by Amal Murad

50
To the women who made the bag that I carry with me every day.
By Lapis Lazuli

To the women who made the bag that I carry with me every day.

I carry this bag with me wherever I go since I got it. In it I carry my notebook and pen in which
I’m writing this to you.

On the bag, there is beautiful tatreez, in the colours red, black, white, and green. I carry my
whole life in this bag, everything I need in order to be safe once I leave my house.
As I walk out the door and travel through all these different spaces I get to carry this pocket
space that you’ve created, when I carry this bag I’m carrying you too, I’m holding onto you.

My mom taught me how to embroider, she taught me about how all different types of
stitches tell stories of our life, the way we pass these threads through the cloth represents
our steps, my favorite stitches are the ones that you have to retrace, one stitch forward,
and then two stitches back, teaching us about how walking our paths can at times feel
backwards, how looking “back” is a vital part in moving forward towards our design.

As I carry this bag with me, resting on my right shoulder, the weight of what I carry inside of it
reminds my body that they are there, and therefore reminding me that I’m here, it helps me stay
present within the moment, and within memory, I’m so grateful that I get to carry this cultural
heritage with me, that I get to show it’s beauty and irreplaceable worth, not only this bag and the
tatreez, but also you the women who crafted this, I hope that the money I paid for it aids you in
life, that it helps you survive the oppression you face, the oppression that my government is
forcing me to pay for.

In this bag I also carry a small gift that I was given a few years ago by a dear friend of mine that
is no longer with us. She taught me so much about Palestine, about Gaza, I carry her and her
love for the land and its people with me in this bag. This bag helps me to refuse letting go, I
refuse to let go of you, every time I see a photo, a video, a piece of writing, when I hear your
music or the sounds of your surroundings, when I experience these parts of you, I’m being
helped in holding onto you. Just like this bag is helping me to not let go, as I hold this bag, as I
show my surroundings this tatreez, I’m nestling you in my heart and the hearts of those around
me, thank you for aiding me in this. I do not know your name, or your face, but I love you, my
love for you is not unlike the love I have for my mother who taught me how to embroider and
not unlike the love I have for my friend that passed away.

With this letter I hope to stitch my care for you into my heart, so that even if I were to lose this
bag, I’d still be unable to let you go. May your tatreez, and therefore your path, your lived
experience, live on, stitched into the hearts of everyone.

51
Untitled
By Aurora Ala-Hakula

You talk about the silence you have experienced since October. About the silence that followed
the death of an 18-year-old cat on your street. The body of a bombed cat lying on the street. No
more humming, purring, squealing, no more flashes of light reflected by shiny fur on the walls of
the house. You said you would no longer hear the sound of bombardment, the all-piercing terror
and violence, the howling of ravaged creatures. You talk about silence. Since that moment, the
silence of the people has been the only sound you have been able to hear.

52
This is a love letter to you, Handalhon cafe
By Even

I never visited you but it feels like I know you. I saw you through journalist Eid Yara’s feed and I
have not been able to let go of thinking about you ever since. She posted about you on 4th of
January 2024. This picture of you was taken a year ago. In the picture she is sitting in your cozy
glow, surrounded by her friends. The cool blue light from her laptop is shining on her face, as a
contrast to the warm dim candle light atmosphere of the cafe. Behind the people in the photo,
there is a painting that they have painted on your walls. It says Palestine in Arabic, along with
names of indigenous villages and cities they were displaced from.

From Eid’s expression and the expressions of the people sitting beside her, you can see that
she feels very safe among these people. She writes that you used to be her second home,
where she would spend most of her time. The people who took care of you are her friends,
Ragheed and Rana. Ragheed built the cafe under his home and it became a small home for a
small family. As Eid writes: ”We discussed politics, love, revolutions, planned our futures, drank
lots of coffee, ate together and most importantly laughed without any limits. We laughed our
hearts out. We also cried at times”

My heart wrenches as I think about how it feels to laugh among people you feel totally safe with.
Those moments are what true happiness feels like, in the bottom of your belly. Being
surrounded by loved ones, people that you can show yourself with, not having to worry if you
are too much or not enough. During the taking of the picture, Eid was conducting a focus group
for her dissertation on the resistance of Palestinian journalists. Some of the people in the photo
she just met for the first time. When she asked them about living under the occupation and their
daily challenges, the electricity went off. That’s why they are sitting by candlelight.

Now I’m lighting a candle, in your memory.

A year after the picture was taken you were destroyed in the genocide. You were bombed. I can
write this, but I can’t fathom this. Like losing a loved one, it feels like your spirit still lingers here.
You are not lost, as long as there is someone who remembers you, who keeps calling your
name.
I’m thinking about a song from one of my favorite movies, Baghdad Cafe. In the song Jevetta
Steele sings ”I’m calling you” and you can feel her cry in every corner of your heart. That song
is a song I play when I need to cry my heart out. I can depend upon that song. It will always
make me cry, when I need it. When I listen to that song, I will think about you, Handalhon cafe.

Your name means:

We will remain here

You will always remain here, in my heart. I will keep crying, calling you.

53
TO THE PALESTINIAN JOURNALISTS IN GAZA AND IN THE WEST BANK
By Rawany

Dearest Wael el Dahdouh,

I want to start these devotional letter series with you. Forgive me for the tears that are blurring
my eyes. I’m looking at a picture of you with your left hand on your hips, wearing your press
gear amongst the rubble that currently is your home, the beloved Gaza. A beautiful light silver
fur covers the lower half of your face. Your eyes look intently into the camera but I would be a
fool to fail to notice the exhaustion in your eyes.

I will never forget how you as a journalist became the subject of the news. How your reporting
was disrupted by the tragic news of the bombardment of the house that your family had taken
shelter in. In a post I read a bit more about your relationship with your wife and the beautiful
romance in your relationship. How you would phone her every day to send her updates and how
deeply worried she must have been for your safety. I hope that every inch of your soul clings on
to the memories of these beloved ones that you lost…

I don’t think myself or the people in the place where I live, will ever understand the incredible
strength it takes to endure what you had to endure and still answer to the responsibility of being
the voice for your peoples immediately after such a loss. Of course how could you stop, with
Israeli terror bombing chasing you and the Gazans with every minute. Perhaps it was the honor
of your loved ones that you were trying to keep alive, by picking up your press gear immediately.
And perhaps, at that moment the responsibility to be the voice of Gaza, outweighs any personal
sufferings. What a giant heart and giant shoulders you must have to bear this responsibility with
the gracefulness that you do!

There’s another picture of you and your beloved Hamza in an embrace, and him giving you a
kiss on your forehead. This seems to be taken a day after Samer got martyred and when you
got injured by that attack. When I zoom into the details of this photo, I notice how your right
hand is resting on the ribs of Hamza. With your eyes closed, you are sinking into this intimate
moment and drinking from the fountain of love that pours from Hamza’s kiss into your body. Your
son breathing strength and courage back into you, probably with the same firm loving grip as
the many times you have held him when he was a little boy. This incredibly soft moment
between you and Hamza speaks of the unbreakable kind of love that the Palestinians have for
one another. In a political world that demonizes Palestinian men, it is this moment between a
father and a son, amidst an ongoing genocide, that speaks so gently yet with a great clarity
about the future of Palestine. A Free Palestine where fathers and sons can hold one another in
a firm embrace without the deadly threats of the Occupation lurking around the corner.

I want to thank you for all the ways that you have shown and continue to show what it really
means, to bear the responsibility of being the voice of a whole people. I will cherish this picture
of you and Hamza and come back to it whenever I need courage spoken back into my bones,
courage that is vital in this long fight for liberation.

With huge admiration and hope that sooner than later we will meet in a Free
Palestine.

Kind spells of protection.

54
A Love Letter to the Cats of Gaza
By Aino-Kaisa Koistinen

Do not ask a cat, who she belongs to, for the cat belongs to no one
and to the whole of humanity

There is a picture of a fluffy white cat

in the arms of a boy in a wheelchair,
or perhaps it is just a chair

Do they have access to wheelchairs in

Gaza? I think the boy has only one leg,
if I remember correctly,
as I almost do not dare to try

I do not dare not to

I can feel the softness of the cat,

like I feel the softness of the cat that I live with,
like a promise, like a cloud

I can feel the cat’s purr, a friendly thunder,

somehow this small wonder, this cat has
already forgiven us

Because a boy in a wheelchair

did not leave behind his thunder, his cloud,
even though we keep leaving

We just keep leaving

them all behind

55
To the cats of Gaza
By Hanima Nawaz

Dear little ones,

Being a cat parent, I write to you on behalf of my own beloved cats and extend warm whisker
greetings to you and your furless companions in Gaza.

As I write this letter to you, I see my youngest one, Jhilmil, run around my home, doing the
fastest laps at 3 in the morning, being her happiest. And I wonder how long you have gone
without playing chase with your human siblings. I wonder if you chase the shadows of
uncertainty with the same fervor that my cats pursue the stuffed toy hung at the end of the stick.

My middle one, Manyaari, is feisty, she roars down the roof of our house when she is not served
her food on time. She feasts on scraps of abundance, contrary to the whispers of hunger that
haunt your streets. How do you endure, little ones, in a land where survival is not a choice but a
testament to tenacity?

My oldest one, Genie, is a bit cowardly. The sound of the blender is enough to snatch the soul
out of his body. He rushes to my arms till the evil stops echoing around him. And then I am
reminded of the parallel worlds we inhabit, where your gentle purrs of contentment are
constantly drowned out by the ear splitting bombardments. Where do you seek solace, when
there is not a safe corner as far as you can see.

While I shower my own cats with love and affection at the comfort of our home, I cannot help but
envy the depth of connection you share with your furless companions, who refuse to leave your
side. Companions who stayed true to their promise even when they are stripped of it every
passing day. Companions who refuse to not love, not care, not take accountability.

And so, dear cats of Gaza, on behalf of Genie, Manyaari and Jhilmil, I pray for the day when
you would be able to visit us here, at our home, not having to risk losing yours forever. We shall
work towards the day when you frolic in the warmth of your home again as your mischievous
self, breaking things, and ripping curtains, being you... as you should be.

With love

56
Letter to Gaza
By Nat Wastnidge

Today I watched someone throw 2 slices of toast into the bin that were 'too overdone' for them
to eat.
I thought of the tiny Palestinian boy that had queued for hours to get beans for his family, only to
accidentally drop them into the rubble. He spent the next good while carefully picking each
precious bean from the ground and dusting off whatever debris he could so he could take food
back to his family.
We take so much for granted and we shouldn't. Now, everything I do each day makes me think
of someone in Palestine who is living this humanitarian nightmare. WE have created so many
on this earth.
Does it make me feel grateful that I can turn on a tap, eat, shelter? Maybe it used to but now it
makes me feel guilty and sad at the injustice and inequality of it all. I feel vulnerable because as
we continue to see the human rights of 'those people' 'over there' being eroded at a terrifying
rate, I am under no illusion that this could be us one day.
I wonder if i would have the same strength and resolve that 1000's of these people have. I relive
scenarios in my mind. I question my decisions on a daily basis. I wonder who would stand with
ME and who would turn away. I feel the cold in my home and think about trying to shelter in my
3rd tent that is under fire.
It is incomprehensible, but what I am choosing to be witness to each day is leaving an indelible
mark on my heart and soul.
I feel different now. It is easy to open your eyes and 'look' but to open your heart and 'see'., that
is what so many more of us need to do.
It has taken this genocide, this one of many that we've watched in our lifetime, to really open me
up to do something and I am bittersweet grateful for that.

We need to keep solidarity alive, for all of us, every single day that we get to live'.

57
Dear Olive Trees of Palestine
By Shabana Hassan

Dear Olive Trees of Palestine,

You have been native to this land longer than any one of us.

You have borne silent witness to…

Incessant drones hovering above

Tiny hands picking speckles of flour off the ground

Family names wiped off the register

Stripped dignity and destroyed dreams

Poisoned lies, disguised hypocrisy and empty promises.

You have lost the People who gave you life and at times, you have lost yourself
too. But the winds of change have begun gusting through your leaves.

Eyes and hearts have been opened to the cries and chants.

Evolved is your existence.

Your branches represent beyond palatable peace, now also unshakable resistance.

Akin to you, we will survive the long draughts of scorching oppression and withstand winters
of injustice.

We will learn from you, to regenerate and recover.

Both you and I will hold tight to our roots – mine to my humanity and you to the soil of
Palestine, from the river to the sea.

58
Love Letter to Gaza
By Emma Fält

I have seen you carrying each other. Comforting each other. Dancing together. Singing together.
In the middle of all horrors.

All we can return to is the embrace of others.

I hear this place was a paradise by the sea. Warm, soft evening, filled with loved ones, waves
and laughter. Speaking from your soul with tender eyes on friends.

I hope soon this is all over. You can return to rebuild this paradise.

There’s a small flower emerging from the rubbles, one of resistance and togetherness and truth.
I hope one that blooms for the world. Truth of how the world is, how our leaders are nothing but
darkness.

My wound is burning rage. This fight we’ll have for the rest of our lives. Gaza in our hearts
grows roots deeper and deeper.

Karo, Finland

59
Seeds of the Intifada
By Isha Kathuria

Dear Palestine,

Your words are the wind

On which I set my sail
Steer me right
Into the eye of the storm.
Breathe life to the clouds,
Breathe.
The rain bites
Not rain,
Not sea,
Though salt forms crystals on my skin.
It falls to the earth and waters the seeds
That you planted
Billions of sprouts
Rear their heads to the storm
A revolution of green.
The sun turns red,
A triangle emerging from white clouds.
Lightning cracks and the sky goes black.

60
land of milk & honey
By Natalie Shell

a tree grows in brooklyn

a heart breaks in gaza
even the sunshine feels dull
sisters separated by an ocean
one sky filled with skyscrapers
the other with trails of fire
and yet both are bright blue in the afternoon

let me breathe on the wind so it might find you

cross the vast oceans and mountains
swirl around olive branches, warming their fruit
ruffle your hair, tug at your scarf
and dance through tents lifting kites, shrieks of joy buoying it higher higher higher

let it gently bend down and embrace the dust, welcoming the fallen angels
and carry them onward, upward
a graceful murmuration pulsing in the sky

61
Before I Throw Away This Orange
For Bisan Odeh
By Hasheemah Afaneh

Dear Bisan,

It took me a few weeks before I started following you on social media. No one was using the
word genocide yet. A part of me was wishing the bombardment would last only a few days - a
few weeks at most - and we would all go back to being strangers. The mind makes odd
calculations when it is in shock: if I don’t follow you on social media, then I am sure this will end
soon. I spent the first few weeks in shock at what I was seeing on my phone screen. This shock
carried on into all parts of my life, personal and professional. I couldn’t remember what was said
in most work meetings. I’d forget to eat. I couldn’t sleep more than two hours without waking up
for another two, and so on.
You kept appearing on my timeline. None of us have any right to ignore you.
I started following you the day you posted a video showing the destruction of your work studio. It
was early on, and still, no one was using the word genocide, and like myself, you were in
colorful summer clothes then. I can’t believe we’ve changed seasons again, and we’re
supposed to go back to wearing colorful summer clothes. How do we find color in the world after
taking the color out of Gaza?
Speaking of seasons, in the winter, I went to buy new boots after I wore out the ones I’ve had
forever. I went to a shoe store, and thought how every winter growing up in Palestine, I’d go
shopping for winter clothes and boots with my mother. I started to wonder if that is something
you did with your mother. I started to cry, and no one around me had any idea why.
I got used to waking up to your saying, ‘Hi, my name is Bisan, and I’m still alive.’ Not the kind of
‘used to’ that normalizes the situation, but the kind where, if I didn’t see your profile immediately
on my grid when I woke up, I’d start to ask my friends if they heard from you. It’s crazy how you
don’t know us, but we know you.
I can’t bare to see you cry, and as the days of the genocide increase, the more times I see you
cry. Your features and your English pronunciation remind me of my little sister, so when I hear
you cry, I think of my sister in your situation, and I want to burn the world to the ground.
One day, you posted a video of you having found an orange. I can’t remember if this was when
you were at Al-Shifa Hospital or not, but you found an orange, and you showed us how there
was a bit of mold on it. With a smile on your face, you peeled the orange and ate it. Now, when I
look at oranges, I think of you. When I see mold, I think I am no better than you. I peel the
orange and eat it.

In solidarity,
Hasheemah

62
Poems through the war
Nadine Murtaja

1.

And if death
does not suffocate me
the smoke will
carrying memories, screams
the remains of families
from years ago
smoke that announces
the burial of a new civil record
into a mutilated grave.
I now fear counting.
I fear numbers will turn
in my head
I count stars
only to realize
they are warplanes
delivering souls,
to their final abode.
When my mother
saw a bright white light,
she told me
tenderly
what a dazzling star it was.
Until the light departed,
stealing more voices
from the streets.

2.

Still my little doll, though between us lie

Thousands of kilometers, airplanes, and a sea
Where the boat of death dwells upon a shore
Unacquainted with the first kiss between lovers, One
displaced, the other hoping for a new encounter.

You remain my first childhood doll,

And the words of first love,
Though between us now lie ashes,
Remnants of bodies, stones of homes living out their sadness.

63
You are still my sole witness,
The distant mirage of my existence as a human.
Forgive me, I thought the house would remain
An anchor of safety, where the scent of books and pictures
Would ease your solitude.

My mind hadn't matured then,

Counting days of war and seconds of
death, Realizing the house was fear,
And the key to safety, a lie.

Forgive and excuse me,

For you have not crossed the bridge of bodies and
blood, Nor played the game of movement and idol,
When a *quadcopter* drone hovers above you.

You have not sifted through the grains of sand

That shared your tent.

You remain sweet, your nails cotton-white,

Unburdened by remnants of burning or shelling.

My dear doll, you always sang to me,

To calm my fears.

May I have a song that weaves a tale

Without the thread of death or tears.

64
Letter to the disabled and sick people of Gaza
By Ar Utke Ács

Dear disabled and sick people of Gaza,

I think of you daily and I have been for the past, soon, half a year. The world was not made for
us, the crips, the chronically ill, the mad, the immunocompromised, and now you are in
circumstances that abled bodied people cannot even survive. A mass-disabling in fact. A
ongoing genocide. I can’t believe my own eyes. My heart is breaking every day. My jaw
clenches in rage from the injustice. I have watched videos of deaf people who don’t hear the
airstrikes. Pictures of people who have no chance of climbing through the rubble. Fridges for
medicine that are banned from entering by the zionist occupation forces. I can only think of the
people on the other side that are operated without anesthesia and people who don’t receive the
medication their lives depend on. The Al Shifa hospital is currently besieged and as an
immunosuppressed person, I know how dire a hospitalisation can be as a patient under normal
circumstances. During war, under these circumstances, it is unfathomable. As disabled people
we are often the first to go under any circumstance – people are taught to question the value of
our existence. But I get to witness your strength and the true beauty of your people. We see
you. We hear you. And we won’t stop witnessing – even from afar.

You are teaching us sumud and we are doing our best to learn from you. To show up in
solidarity in a whole array of ways. We have been demonstrating every week since October –
most often several times a week. Whatever city I go to, I will find the local demonstration
network. We are queers, we are disabled people, medical workers, students, jews, young and
old. We have organized sit-ins in public spaces and have been thrown out by the police. We
have gathered donations and sent e-sims. We have started study circles to learn more deeply
about your culture, your land and your people. About the zionist forces threatening all of this
beauty. We have been marching through the dark nights of the Nordic hemisphere with torches.
My friends set up tables across from the Swedish parliament in the middle of a snow storm
under the title “For Gaza’s Children” for people to write down all the names of children martyred.
I wrote the name of Saleh Kamal Mansour Sobh and grieved the fact that this faulty world had
lost yet another young human life with all its dreams, imagination and future ahead. My
colleagues and I have been writing our local institutions to push them to show their
solidarity and humanity. And in some cases it has made a difference: it has led to statements

65
and also a public reading of the Gaza Monologues back in November. The monologues made a
deep impact on all of us. It takes you, the Palestinian people out of the absurd news cycles and
give us the chance to peek into what your realities and dreams look like and how the
violence affects you, but hasn't stopped your children’s visions for their future. At least not until
now. We are speaking up against zionists and people defending zionism an apologists of
this genocide or occupation. We are educating people that are misinformed and undereducated.
We are praying for you and lighting candles at night in your honour. I am supporting a colleague
of Syrian descent to host an azza for Gaza, to create a space to hold grief and transform
hopelessness into solidarity. There hasn’t been a day where I haven’t thought of you and the
people of Gaza. The methods and approaches are many and varied, but they all have to come
together for this to matter in the long haul. The voices of solidarity of the world are loud
and clear. We will never be able to do enough for you, but we will be able to persevere. I would
like you to know that we see you and we will keep on raising our voices and take action to
the best of our abilities and beyond. You have shown us that you are a free people and that it is
the rest of the world living in shackles, not able to keep up to speed with your grace.

A friend of mine of Gazan descent, now living in Norway, had his first child in the beginning of
October before the current attacks began. The baby is called Samar and is a ray of light
amidst this catastrophe. As she grows and her beauty is revealed so is the horror of the world
she was born into. But we are nothing without our hope and the steadfastness you teach us
every day. And when the day comes, I will do my best in supporting the rebuilding of your
beautiful country.

With love and care,

x Ar

66
The Colors of the Rainbow
By Althea Valencia

Once upon a time, Blue, meaning art,

a vibrant story unfolds, as it continues to paint the skies,

Where hope, from a rainbow, A masterpiece of courage,

its journey boldly holds. where hope never dies.

Red, meaning life, Indigo, the harmony

vibrant with life's pulse, in life's melody,
A feeling of passion,
The symphony of peace,
an energy that won't convulse.
soothing the soul tenderly.

Orange, for healing,

Violet, meaning spirit,
like a loving, warm embrace,
soaring above all other color,
May you feel this type of warm,
The peace, love, and spirit we see
Let it bring you comfort and grace.
in your people

Yellow, resembles the sun, is unlike any other.

casting down a golden hue,

Illuminating the dark, So, in life's vast canvas, let the

Like a radiant breakthrough. rainbow guide,

Each color is a chapter, where hope

Green, reminds us of nature, will reside.

where life intertwines, Proclaim it now, let everyone know,

A sanctuary, After a storm will always come a rainbow.

where hope and existence align.

67
Their light will never die.
By R

68