Palestine bids a farewell each day to a new martyr, an eleven-year-old boy who went outside to check out the noise from the background of his home, a five-year-old girl crashed intentionally on her way to the preschool. Sad stories of sabotaged lives under an oppressive tyranny that knows no limits.
The olive trees even, took their portion of hatred and despise. Scenes from olive harvesting season seemed like stories from old novels about gangsters and barbarian attacks.
And then, with my eyes going shyly on Gaza. Rains that will take away from those poor people even the shelter of the sky. More scenes that prove our limitations, our weakness, our helplessness.
Even a cry for help doesn’t sound relevant anymore. We heard of millions being donated for the so-called reconstruction.
There is no need to post the photo of that little girl when she was just another child…death in disguise with occupation is knocking all doors.
There is no need to see the mourning of the elven year’s old boy family, his twin brother, and his bereaved mother. Condolences house are becoming like bazars in Palestine.
The poor left behind stories of wounded people in Jerusalem hospitals, with no money, clothes or opportunities for treatments.
It all seems dark and foggy like this October first rain days. A state of confusion that the sky itself doesn’t even seem to realize.
Should it rain for the harvesting season, or should it hinder to leave the homeless with some shelter for a while.
It decides to pour …
Maybe it cleans our dirtiness. Our blackened hearts.
Maybe it washes our faces from our shame and cowardice …
I wish the maybes could be fulfilled…
We continue our lives.
As normal as possible,
As pretentious as we are.
The war is over …in our minds
And we need to catch up with what we have missed from life.
Martyrs, wounded, jailed …
We care … we will post a condemnation, a photo, a comment and click some likes…