When Words Become Disordered

A Poem & a Spotlight on Palestinian Poets

When Words Become Disordered

White coat against bomb debris; one lone figure walks.

Patients. Military. Doctor. Abuse. Treatment. Target.

If a pediatrician who refuses to leave his patients is a criminal,
what do we call the soldiers who torture him?

Rights. Rapist. Release. Prison. Hero. Terrorist.

If peace means the continued imprisonment
and torture of doctors while bombs fall—what is safety?

Imprison. Secure. Strike. Defend. Neutralize. Protect.

If the hands that tended incubators are now bound
behind backs—who is left to hold the smallest lives?

What have we done to the word witness?

This poem references paediatrician Dr. Hussam Abu Safiya, one of many Palestinian medical professionals currently held hostage by the Israeli military; who is known to be near death due to ill-treatment in custody. He was imprisoned after refusing to leave his patients in a hospital targeted by the military. I’m sharing it to mark Palestinian Prisoner’s Day, which you can read more about here.

If you’re able, please support Amnesty International’s campaign for Dr. Hussam Abu Safiya’s release.

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Spotlight on Palestinian Poets

Opol / Space’s online poetry reading of the gorgeous Winter Quarterly, co-hosted by Venessa Tai Yeh and Poetry Outdoors, brought together poets from around the world in artful and deeply moving readings this past weekend.

The words of the poets from Gaza have stayed with me, and I feel compelled to spotlight them here. Please do take time to read their work.

Roba Al-Sharif
Follow Roba on Instagram

We might meet,
far from the barriers of occupation,
far from the sky’s fear,
just you, and the shimmer of your eyes,
and silent stars bearing witness to us.
~

Excerpt from We Might Meet

Farah Elbahnasawi
Check out Farah’s website

This town glows, no doubt—
lamps like marbles
scattering light across the streets,
while the passersby carry centuries inside
tired faces,
heavy hearts,
remnants of sparks
haunted by vanishing sounds,
dimmed by visions of the past.

~

Excerpt from Fading in the Glow

Taqwa Ahmed Al-Wawi
Check out Taqwa’s website

Oh, my mind—
let’s sit down tonight and speak in silence,
for the noise inside is louder than bombs,
and the smoke of worry
blurs my view of the stars.

~

Excerpt from Saudade

Shahed El. Farra
Check out Shahed’s Instagram

Gaza has become circles of fire
around our souls and bodies,
burning our will before our eyes—
consuming the dreamers,
the lovers,
the fighters.

Still,
that small lady
sits by the window,
holding tightly to the pen in her hand,
to the last fragment of hope—
that one day she will touch the sky,
and that day will be born
from the heart of Hell.

~

Excerpt from Echoes from the Ashes

Nadera Mushtha

A grove of olive and orange trees,
a woman collecting grape leaves,
a string of rainbow-colored lights
hanging between the walls
while men, boys and girls, danced dabka
around long tables of grilled meat, maftoul and fatta
for a neighbor’s wedding.

We laughed, we joked, we embraced,
and our grandparents smiled
as they watched us
playing games, taking pictures,
gathering under one roof, together.

~

Excerpt from Before the Roof Fell

Menna Saber Abo Salem
Check out Menna’s Instagram

The sun rises again.
Its rays dance with
the fluttering wings
of birds.
~

Excerpt from A Scarf of Sunlight

In the words of Opol’s brilliant founder Venessa Tai Yeh “To further support our young poets from Gaza, please check out their beautiful zines which are available by donation or share their work with your community outside of Opol. I believe everyone here today really connected with the feeling that what's happening in Gaza, Lebanon, Iran, is what is happening to our brothers, sisters, friends. Great poetry doesn't just make us feel; it makes us act.”

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