Children Of Unhappy Land Poem by Fathimathul Hanna

Listen,
Echoes of losses in Gaza streets!
I once met my beloved Samar there.
My search for her came to an end,
In one of the airstrikes of last week.
Walking through Wehda
With food parcels in hand
And layers of pain inside me.
I saw Khalid holding a single shoe.
'Where's the other shoe? ' I gently asked.
He started weeping, looking around.
'What are you looking for, my boy? '
'I want my mom to cook me food.'
He sobbed.
Are you hungry, dear? I persisted.
'No, somebody gave me food.'
His voice quavered.
I asked, caressing him,
'Then why are you crying, my child?
'I don't have my mom to cook me food.'
Salty streams trickled down his countenance.
Towards the parched lips of hope.
Passing clouds of Gaza witnessed
What the media ignored!
How can I sleep when the east is burning?
To those who sit on the throne
If you do not want to hear
The cry of kids
Whose family is torn
And childhood is stolen
Then close the darwazas of the bungalow,
But the olive trees will never stop.
Whispering the tales of an unhappy land
To those who sit on the throne
If you act blind in your heart,
An ocean of ordeals is awaiting you.
Time for the soil under your feet
To be above you is needless.
They are the children of Palestine
With heavier hearts and shattered lives.