
“The Son of Yesterday”: Three poems by Mohammed Moussa
I walk alone without my
mother, and I am my mother’s son.

Two poems, Hala al-Khatib
This is not a nightmare. Not a drama film.
It’s just half an hour in Gaza.

“I Miss My Old Life,” Taqwa al-Wawi
I miss those days, before we carried the weight of names we no longer call. When “loss” was just a word in a story, not the story itself. But most of all, I miss the girl I was—the one who smiled without fear, whose laughter didn’t falter when windows rattled. She dreamed with arms wide open, wore hope like a favorite color, a flame that never flickered.