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View fullsize The Unseen Farewell In Gaza, graves lie countless, unmeasured, Each corner cradles a silent witness, Each street a sprawling cemetery, Each home a coffin of undying memories. We buried loved ones in gardens, By doorsteps, beneath ancient olive trees
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View fullsize October Stands Before Me October stands before me should I rejoice, for nations have spoken my name, for my homeland breathes on their maps? Or should I tremble, for October remembers its wounds, its skies heavy with fire, its earth marked by sorro
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View fullsize رحمة الحنفي، "من قلب الحربّ؛ أكتب ما داخل روحي وأحاول تحرير الكلمة منها."
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View fullsize If I Must Vanish If I must vanish— let it not be in silence, not beneath the rubble, not behind numbers on a screen that flicker and fade. Let me be a name a voice a breath caught in a child’s prayer a lullaby of resistance hummed over
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View fullsize The Bread Has a Name The bread has a name— and if it reaches the table, it is soaked in blood. No ceiling above us— only the flapping breath of nylon as the wind writes sorrow in waves. A mother stirs boiling water, seasoned with memory
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