P B B Y

The Key

Thursday 21 January 2021 by Rania

Issa abu Siniemeh
16 years

Ever since my grandfather built his house which overlooks the soul, he made the door big and put the nails with his own hands, the wood was a variety, one from the olive tree, another from the fig tree, and another from the almond tree, the door from an orange tree, and before he made the door he went to the iron worker and asked him for a key of yellow shining copper…

Every time my grandfather goes to the market to buy sesame and corn and dried figs, he put the key with a thread of red cloth on his neck, when he bathes the key shows on his chest as if a yellow planet is shining, when he sleeps he puts it next to the perfume glasses, and the box of the cream for the knee, also the key was beautiful as if it is a new language in a far away world…

The wind increased outside the house, mixed with drums of war, the war spread its dust in the streets until it reached the features of silence, the inhabitants of the villages cried, some of them ran leaving their homes behind, and the grape garden, they all left the well and the rusting iron, they went and left the bottom of the mountain, except for my grandfather who kept holding the key and turning in the house without knowing where to hide it, so he put it in his pocket and said: I will not run away…

Tens of clouds rained on the camp, and hundreds of tents of hope were put up in the face of the wind, and the promise became that of opening the door again for the mountain breezes, and to hang on it the wishes of the orange groves…


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