“The Son of Yesterday”: Three poems by Mohammed Moussa

Salty Prayer in Summer

The sea fills my eyes with the tears
of children in northern Gaza.

I no longer know the language of the
slaughtered seagulls or the embrace
of the broken waves.

I was born yesterday in a large
cage. My mother could only find my
name to cook.

How can I grow up amidst all this
destruction, when I am the son of
yesterday?

Horses run alone at funerals. I pray
with the slaughtered seagulls in
summer. I walk alone without my
mother, and I am my mother’s son.

[Up on that crummy balcony with no roof]

Up on that crummy balcony with no roof
in July, those starving kids are
watching me while I’m messing with my
plants, feeding my birds, and opening
a busted window to the awful sun.
They’re staring at the little bit of
food I have. They’re just hanging
around, looking at me. I offer them
some, but they don’t do anything. I’m
wondering if they’re even alive, if
I’m even alive, and if this is really
life, watching people starve in this
day and age.

Tell it to the sky

Tell it to the sky.
I was so thirsty,
begging for its
tears.

I was so hungry and
never found even a
stale piece of
bread or even a
crumb from a dead
sun.

Tell it, tell it: I
love life. I never
hated the sky, but
I hate its long
arms.

Tell the sky:
This heart is tired of
lacerating goodbyes,
of running away every day
from fleeing memories,
of defeats soaked in blood
and sand,
of wombs torn open by bombs,
of kids dying of bombs,
of kids dying of hunger,
of pain
of loved ones dying,
of the rubble covering my
face, choking me,
of words left unsaid,
of the heat of tents,
of burial chambers that never close,
of full graveyards
of empty ones.

Tell it how my body
has become a ravaged
city, only rubble and
dust inside, of
living in darkness,
flying in darkness,
of being unable to
bury my body, my
mother’s, my whole
family. Of standing
in queues for water,
for food, for a
shroud.

Tell it: Will life
ever be the same
during or after a
genocide, or will
there ever be a life
after a genocide?

Mohammed Moussa is a Palestinian poet from Gaza. He is a freelance journalist who has written for several international news outlets. He founded the Gaza Poets Society, Gaza's first spoken word community, and hosts Gaza's first podcast, the Gaza Guy Podcast. He has published two poetry collections, Flamingo and Salted Wounds, and has contributed to numerous poetry anthologies, such as Love and Loss, the Gaza Poets Society's first anthology, and edited and contributed to the society's second anthology, My Death is Not a Song for You to Sing.

Artwork by Ahmed Muhanna.