Dear Gaza,
You are not mine, but I am yours. I have never stepped foot on your sacred soil, and yet I grieve you and miss you as though I grew up cradled by your warmth. I have befriended so many of your people and loved from the distance so many more. As I have written of Beirut and Jnoub many times before, I find my heart trembling for you, beating to the hum of the drones that pollute your sky. I love you by Abood’s sweet humour. I love you by Salah’s spirit and Bisan’s storytelling. I love you by the two sacred puffs on Reem’s head. I love you by the mom teaching her child how to write on hospital walls. I love you by the testimonies written on the walls of Al Shifa. I love you by your people and your trees, by your heritage sites and your seas. I love you by the Omari mosque, the one that survived centuries – but not the occupation. I am angry for you. I am angry I never got to see you on your best days. I am angry I got to know your rubble first. I am angry I never got to see the newly paved Rashidi beach street or the MovinPick hotel, before the occupation dug it up, before the occupation struck it down. I will write to you again, soon. I love you with every fiber of my being. One day, I will visit you from Jnoub, I will drive through a free Palestine and make my way to you. One day, soon. Soon, my friend.
Shams [@SometypeofExistence on tiktok]
*Jnoub means “South” in Arabic, and in this context refers to South Lebanon, an area with hundreds of villages, including the two that I originally come from. It also shares a border with Occupied Palestine.
Dear Gaza
I pray for your freedom
May your roads connect through a free Palestine
May the olive trees give you strength to blossom again
The oranges from Jaffa travel freely through all of Palestine
The shores bring you new joy and hope
I pray tree glory of your sunset never cease to amaze the world
Your time is coming, beloved Gaza
Children will okey in the streets of Gaza, birds will sing and a new wonderful day in Gaza will rise
Better late than never
With love, Sandy [@misspinkjacket on Tiktok]
Dear Gaza,
I am sorry I was not paying attention. I always heard of Palestine, but I was so brainwashed. I am not Palestinian, so I cannot claim her as mine but hopefully she will have me, I give myself to her I feel shame for allowing this to happen. I am shameful for watching it, and allowing it too. When I first met Cooze, she took me to my core. The people called out, and I heard Gaza. I wish to see her beauty one day when the indigenous people can return in Gaza I see liberation for us all and goes and sees liberation and us which is why she cries for us. I wish to see the incredible universities. The monumental libraries, the fresh baked pita, the leaves falling off the olive tree, the crystal clear beaches. Gaza has taught me to focus on what’s important, Gaza has taught me to be resilient. Gaza has shown me I need to stand up for all people across her mighty sea. She has helped me see the truth of the world. I hope she can write me back. I hope to hear her call grow in strength and this is not the end. We will talk again soon.
love, marsh. [@visiousbetrayal on Tiktok]
The Poetry Passport 