She breathes in smoke
It deflates her spirit;
She then exhales a flame
While her eyes are red

The world is a strident grave
And life is a pungent breath
While anonymity is her steed
On the highway to a promise

God forbid, it vanishes!
Her soul, the little grace
A mourning dove reveals
As traumas darkest secret.

Heaven, in silent grief
Adorns a rosy crib:
Her feet at its river
And her head by its sea!

But a dream-prayer clawing its way into corporeality

A curse cast to plunge the heads of every deathmaker onto the spikes as a reminder

A rebuke of the money-monger celebrities
who remain silently complicit as thousands of mothers let out

A guttural scream for the severed limbs & excavated hymns of the blessed children

A plea for justice
A song for peace
Sprouting from seed

“Bury Zionism under the rubble of my grief”
she says, as…

[the invocation eclipses into a tangible thing]

“The Nakba is over…”

Palestine is free

[the soft sun rises over Rafah]

‎ٱلْحَمْدُ لِلّٰهِ

“…alhamdulillah…”

From the river to the sea