Three poems, Mariam al-Khatib

The sea at nine in the morning

The sea is there as if it doesn't know that a war has passed and that the world cracked at night without its knowledge.

Barefoot children run over the rough sand; the ground is still fit for running; and women spread out blankets as if they are spreading out their worn-out memories: goodbyes, laughter, cracks in the salt, and the smell of unbaked bread.

Fishermen doze off in their boats under a sun that resembles sweat; and a corn seller screams, pulling his cart on a corniche eroded like a heart the city has let down.

The smell of salt, strands of hair in the air, and boredom that doesn't complain, but sits beside you like an old friend accustomed to loss and has no intention of leaving.

Ansar Junction

The place is like a beehive without direction. Cars whirl around as if searching for a way out of a whirlpool, horns screaming as if lamenting, children running between legs like lost shadows, and young men selling counterfeit chargers and headphones as if peddling illusions of survival.

A policeman stands in the middle, his hand waving lazily, as if he believes in nothing.

Everyone here is like a nervous clock hand, moving as if afraid of being late for an appointment they do not know.

In the corner, a woman selling mint looks at the world as if she has seen its end a thousand times and no longer cares if the scene is repeated.

At noon, on Al Jalaa Street

The street is half shadow, half burning.
School students jump on the asphalt
lazily, covered in noise,
an old man selling pickles
next to a service station
waits for those who never return.
A girl holds a book
and stares at the ground,
as if words escape her,
or as if the ground reads more.
Mothers are like air:
carrying bags as if they carry the city,
rebuking their children as if raising survivors,
haggling over the price of tomatoes
in a voice that blends tenderness and war,
making the simplest of gestures
a hidden metaphor for life.
Boredom is palpable here,
pulsating in the creaking of doors,
in the repetition of grocers' names,
in the silent boredom
that goes unsaid,
but is lived
like a heavy, unfading shadow.

Mariam Mohammed al-Khatib is a dentistry student, poet, oud player, translator, and activist in the local community. She was a participant in the Hult Prize, an annual competition for ideas solving pressing social issues, such as food security, water access, energy, and education. She works as a writer and makes videos, producing content about Palestine.

Artwork by Sohail Salem.