“No Sugar in the City”: Three poems by Hind Jouda
No Sugar in the City
I want to bake a cake, but there's no sugar in the city
no smiles pouring from passing faces
no balconies overlooking dreams,
and the windows have not returned to their places since the last wars!
I want to bake a loaf of bread,
but there's no wheat in the fields,
There is only a dilapidated scarecrow
Scaring the peasants, but not the crow!
I want to bake a moon,
but there's no oven that can fit its towering roundness
So I decided to devour my raw heart
for there's no fire in the city!
Dec. 3, 2023
Hello world
I am there
I mean here
yes exactly, here in Gaza!
under this grey pile
I was screaming moments ago
but the last missile
made me fly to you
to tell you what you are incapable of comprehending!
Oh world, it is an evening of hunger
not necessarily in my stomach
and not a hunger for the bread that you eliminate for a diet!
Not a hunger for the miserable aid you sent in containers for my children,
I stood at the crossroad of rifles, and it did not arrive!
It's not just queues of hungry people
Nor the protruding bones of the hungry
I'm hungry for myself!
I mean, I was hungry for me as a human,
Before your next missile eats me!
…
Oh world, it is an evening of madness
What do you think as you watch silently, pretending to understand?
Nodding your head
Hammering your gavel
to decide a humanitarian pause for me
Oh thank you
I will smile with gratitude
I will laugh exposing all my teeth
I will giggle while filling your ears with sobs
Tell me:
Do you even see?
…
An evening of darkness
what do you know of the cold that has frozen my limbs
while I break up the ruins of wardrobes
to feed the fire!
I burnt school books, summer clothes,
and skulls
and the terrible sound of explosions
I no longer care
just like you!
…
Oh life, it is an evening of death
I believe your disbelief
I am enriched by your bankruptcy
And I have risen with your fall
I am the one in the pit
with no brothers
Your wolves ate me and tore the shirts
I am the one oppressed by disappointments and your ugliness, O world
Thank you for the last missile
It relieved the street of a long wailing
Dec. 20, 2023
Clothes washed by the sea
that sea that still holds its blue color in an amazing collusion with life!
Clothes dried by a tired sun
A sun trembling in fear from the explosions
From the cries of hearts that have almost been extinguished!
A sun that has become pale with the disappearance of the color green!
In Gaza now, the color grey is celebrated as the hero
In the endless pictures captured of falling houses on top of bodies,
Roof after roof like burning meteors,
Digging terror into the ground meters deep
Altering the meaning of the ground and surface,
The upper floor becomes absolutely terrifying,
The building collapses in all its glory, with empty water tanks and useless satellite dishes!
You wonder where the people went?
Then you are surprised by a spot of blood, a foot or leg, or perhaps by five fingers that managed to survive!
Now you know the answers to the questions,
But you keep on asking!
These poems were previously published in Gaza Passages.
Hind Jouda was born in Gaza in 1983, where she completed her studies in Educational Technology. She is a poet and writer of stories and essays who has published two poetry collections: Always One Leaves (Mosaic, 2013) and No Sugar in the City (Khata, 2016; Al-Ahliyya, 2017). She has written award-winning documentary film scripts, such as Gaza the Orange (Golden Award at the Cairo Arab Youth Festival) and The Witness’s Sin, shown on the Al Jazeera Documentary Channel. She has also participated in writing plays such as The Homeland Play and Not by the Shoe and has written famous songs such as “O Passersby” (2013) and “Raise Your Head” with Mohammad Assaf (2014). She founded and edited the 28 Magazine for three years before transforming into a cultural salon in Rafah.
Artwork: “Searching for Life” by Sliman Mansour.