Gaza, ya ghazal
by Hannah Mesouani
The bodies bend like reeds in the concrete fields of Gaza
Dried up shells, lives cut short, children do not grow in Gaza.
The fire laps at the walls of their memories, scorched
Like the tomes, now tombs, of the silenced tongues of Gaza.
The azza break too behind the camera lens, g-gone
Double-tapped to ephemeral fame, for nothing lasts in Gaza.
They updated the commandments to include philistine
A blessing turned to dirt like the muse that once was Gaza.
Nary, the olives are too bitter, pits choke obliging throats
Who march, pink hats on yellow bellies, too full to tend to Gaza.
Who thinks of the albatross on humanitarian necks
Winged child of Omelas, born in Rafah, decayed in Gaza?
The skeletal dog who eats the face of her congealed master,
Who whines like missiles, arms open to hold the whole of Gaza.
Every syllable we stifle is home to a god of retribution
Chosen people ink an atlas of mankind’s failure, Gaza.
My body is a weighted blanket crumpled at my feet
Hannah, your words will not fill the hollow made of Gaza.
Born and raised in Morocco, Hannah Mesouani was telling trilingual truths long before earning her Ph.D. in Education for Social Justice. She is a DEI educator and intercultural communications coach who seeks to create accessible learning environments that foster curiosity and trust. Her research focuses on the racial identity development of Middle Eastern and North African (MENA) communities. She is passionate about calling out the anti-Muslim rhetoric that is embedded in geopolitical rhetoric around the Middle East. When Hannah is not immersed in the miasma of capitalism, she writes poetry and works on her passion project, a neurodivergent field guide to the American workplace.
Photo Credit: Overlooking Gaza (c. 1911) from the Public Domain Image Archive
Leave a Reply