Two poems, Hala al-Khatib

Half an Hour in Gaza

The call to prayer rises. My brother goes out
to pray at the mosque—the same mosque the
Israelis threatened to bomb many times. A
rocket sounds. We rush to the windows,
looking for my brother. We sit, hearts heavy
with the pain of past losses, afraid, waiting
for the sound of the door unlocking.
Mohammed comes back, smiling, telling us
how he survived death once again. They say
the price of flour has dropped. My father
hurries out to buy some. I get up to bake a
cake with what’s left of our flour—to
celebrate. I secretly add a lot of sugar, even
though only a few grains are left in the jar.
But my mother doesn’t get angry—she’s
happy, waiting for the flour. My father
returns, but he brings worry instead of flour.
He tells us the flour disappeared from the
market by the time he arrived. I put on my
red lipstick, trying to feel some of the
femininity the war took from me. Then my
little niece comes and says this is the color of
the blood she saw on the martyrs’ shrouds. I
pause for a moment. Then I continue putting
the blood-red lipstick on my lips, unbothered.
This is not a nightmare. Not a drama film.
It’s just half an hour in Gaza.

Dear World, I Curse You

The world is so vast. Of
course, I’ve never seen it. I
live in a cage with my pain, my
oppression, my killing. And I
love it.

I don’t know, did they really
create it? Or did they trick me
into believing it exists so I’d
fight to get out? And I fight,
just to stay.

The world is huge, but it
doesn’t hold me. It can’t carry
the misery it caused me. I
carried it with this cage, with
eyes looking up at the sky,
waiting for salvation for
death.

This world is cruel. It’s
bothered by my existence. It
answers my words with missiles.
And when I fall silent, and the
sea begins to speak, it kills
me, me and my misery. And the
sea and my words remain,
witnesses to a world that
couldn’t bear me.

Hala al-Khatib is an English literature student from Gaza. She says: “My words are my voice, for myself and for the world, with no limits. Through my writing, I aim to share a piece of the life of a Gaza girl, living through hardship but with boundless ambition. I believe that words can be a bridge between me and the world, and through stories, I reveal the truth of what I live, beyond any embellishment or minimization.”

Artwork by Abdullah Wagih.