Dust and Fire

Monday 10 February 2014

Blazing scenes, pages tired of the dust of cries and fire that lit my eyes, the hymns of those cannons, the music of destruction and the sufferings of a sun that allowed monsters from the sky to hunt their prey easily; all this on that “black Saturday” among so many miserable days suffered by the Palestinians, and not wiped out by an innocence that would intercede for the destroyed children of Gaza!?

These voices in the sky were not simple and my steps were not easy for me when I climbed up to the roof of our house to find out the direction of the shelling. What did it choose from the streets and whose souls did it take? It destroyed the atmosphere in Gaza. This is the bleeding of pain.

My mother was working in Gaza as usual, and for the first time I felt like those destined to lose a loved one, fear crept to my heart telling me I might lose my mother. I had heard so much shelling and cruel cannon fire that I imagined I would never see my mother again. Ah! My heartbeats insisted on disobeying me and kept going as fast as an Arab horse.

Hours of bombardment, of worry and waiting passed, and my mother is still not near us, while shells come from every corner killing here and wounding there.
In the darkness of this awaiting my mother finally arrived home, and joy was lit inside me. A strange feeling came to me when I touched and kissed her, and I couldn’t control my painful thoughts about her.

The shelling went on for days and thousands of souls were lost. What crime did the Palestinians of Gaza commit that they should bear this war that made their hearts bleed and caused them all this pain?

Oh my father, you are paradise for me, you went in those difficult days to do your duty and answer the call of humanity everywhere, an unknown soldier challenging the violent winds to help our people in Gaza. You deliver blood that could help heal those wounded awaiting the arrival of that knight, you bring food to save the starving homeless; you are the hero in my eyes. I love you father and I adore your good spirit that spreads its nectar amidst the silence to comfort the secure.

I will not cease to see the tears of my mother night and day, the conscience of the world has dried and her tears have not; she is lonely in the absence of her support, my older brother doesn’t take the responsibilities of the house with her, she feels my father has burdened her with this load, the house, the children and herself.

I heard the begging of her eyelids for sleep, to rest her body that was tired of staying up and her eyes that were tired of sleeplessness.

Every time I would see her either crying or praying my tears would shiver and refuse to be imprisoned in the corner of safety where there is no safety.
I was trying hard not to make my brothers feel that I was scared and worried and waiting for the ghost of death, how hard are the waiting breaths.

I woke up to hear the shouts of my brothers and wondered: Why, what happened?

But these were cries of joy, with a different taste. Beautiful cries because my father is coming home, to his home and to my mother who would reassure him she carried the burden.

Ah! Ah! These moments, when you see the angel has entered the house and warmed its walls after the coldness has hidden my brothers’ smiles.

I had feelings of joy and sadness as I remembered the children who, like my brothers, had waited for their father, their guardian angel but to no avail.

I fear of one day facing this feeling, death chooses whoever it wants except my beloved ones, other than separation it chooses whatever it wants.

The scenes still repeat themselves and the red curtain is the same, the favorite for the viewer and director.

Oh my Gaza, years pass by and we reap the same fruit: death.

This is some of what my wounds could write, and my pen is like a bell ringing on the doors of Gaza announcing the zero hour of death and bloodshed.

Monsters shaking the doors of the heavens, and fireworks roaring not for fun, but for farewell!

Ahmad, Mohammad, Ali and Yasmina were first to leave us. Yasmina was strangled by thorns and died. There is the dust of my city and the story of my people and the laughter of my death. Oh time, time has forgotten the hardship of peace and governments have taken sleeping pills to sleep forever.
We have lost the light, and peace has restrained our breath, a drop of tears went into the world of illusion, my heart was wounded over my brother, cousin and neighbor.

In the last scene the curtain is dropped while Gaza is under fire and siege in a mighty den. Gaza there’s no escape will be Gaza!

Ala’ Hassan



Translated by Hadi Ruhayem

| | Site Map | Visitors : 2247 / 21104

Follow site activity en  Follow site activity Children’s Writings   ?

Site powered by SPIP 3.2.19 + AHUNTSIC