see different things:
one me leaving Gaza in peace,
in one piece,
the other, me getting jailed at the Erez crossing point.
My head: a confused old TV channel
picking up crossed signals.
(In Egypt visiting the Red Sea)
Riding a jet boat for the first time,
my hat falls in the sea, waves
wear it now,
and at night I'm back home,
unable to sleep.
Toha, M. A. (2024) Forest of Noise, Gaza Notebook
At fifth grade, I visit the school library.
On a wall by the door, a poster claims,
"If you read books, you live more than one life."
Now I'm thirty and whenever I look at faces
around me, old or young, on each forehead I read:
"if you live in Gaza, you die several times."
The bomb when it pounded the sea
made an eye socket beneath the sand.
The fish thought the sea
had been crying forever.
.
She asked her teacher:
if there are four directions,
then why do we have only two feet?
.
When it rains, farmers think the sky loves them.
They are wrong. It rains either because
the clouds cannot carry the sacks of water too long,
or a because a sparrow has said a prayer
when it heard the thirsty roots begging.
.
No one at home.
the door knob
only dust touches it now
Post grow parched
Frying pans miss the smell of olive oil.
Clothlesliness everywhere pine for soap scent.
The flower pot / the window /the key
{language}
stone of house after explosion get amnesia
Some forget they were in a wall in a bedroom or a kitchen or a bathroom
some in a ceiling
some forget they sat behind photo frames for years
a few stones (forget) / they were stones
those hit by the bomb
.
Birds draw the lines of their homes in the sky.
and the wind...
.
walking on the beach,
dreams grow between each two footprints
on the sand
and the waves...
.
Her dreams,
She threw them onto the closest sea wave
and that wave
never returned
.
Raindrops slide on windowpanes,
each one exploring a new space,
a bed made for the night,
or, on the kitchen counter, a glass full of water
(young ancestors)
(or missing siblings)
.
upon birth, mask up your children and leave them unnamed
so
the angel of death can't find them
someone may ask
why not paint their faces change their names
everyday
a nightingale on the tree of dusk exclaims
what if both the painter and the paint
work for the angel of death
a stone near a cemetery suggests
why give birth to children
at all
.
in the camp / house small
power off / humid
drone sound buzz in through bullet holes
to have walls
in a blessing
outside
young and old
spend most of the night
in the street
in the camp
a street can become a living room
talking talking /watching cats and mice
scavenging through trash for cheese and meat
rooms inside: drawers for tired souls
temporarily stored
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