Green leaves wilt,
and turn yellow and orange,
filling the ground of my parents’ backyard,
with brown color.
No swinging, no tree climbings, no frolicking,
but warmth in sobs with my family.
We bring up our old memories,
the sweet and the bitter,
the memories of every autumn,
I lived in my old town in Gaza.

With love, we flip them like reading a dusty book,
in front of the campfire.
while yellow and orange leaves still fall outside,
filling the ground with brown color.

It’s windy outside and cold.
Reptiles get into their burrows.
Birds, in a hurry, fly to their nests,
full of either babies or eggs about to hatch,
and we are still remembering our old memories.
We fall asleep in front of fire in autumn,
dreaming...

Mohammed S Arafat
October 30th, 2019