Poem by Palestinian writer Mosab Ab Toha
poem by Arab author Mosab Abu Toha. poem by Israeli author Mosab Abu Toha
Poem by Palestinian writer Mosab Ab Toha
At night, at home, we sit on the floor,. . close to each other and. . far from the windows and the red. . lights of bombs. Our backs bang on the walls. . whenever the house shakes.. . We stare at each other’s face,. . scared and yet happy that we were lucky,. . that our lives were spared this time.. . . The walls wake up from their fitful sleep.. . Flies gather around the only lit ceiling lamp. . for warmth in the cold night,. . cold except when missiles hit. . and heat up houses and roads and trees,. . scorching an adjacent neighborhood.. . . Every time we hear a bomb. . falling from an F-16 or an F-35,. . our lives panic. Our lives freeze. . somewhere in-between, confused. . where to head next:. . to a graveyard, to a hospital,. . or to a nightmare.. . Our lives keep their shivering hands. . on their wristwatch,. . fingers ready to remove the batteries. . if and when needed.. . . My four-year-old daughter, Yaffa,. . in her pink dress, hears a bomb. . explode. She breathes in deep,. . covers her mouth with her dress’s. . ruffles.. . Yazzan, her five-and-a-half-year old brother,. . grabs a blanket warmed by his sleepy body.. . He lays the blanket on his sister.. . You can hide now, he assures her.. . As for me and my wife, Maram, we pray. . that a magic blanket would hide all the houses. . from the bombs and take us to somewhere safe.
