Apo jo?

In an apartment 2909.60km away from Gaza,
a family is in mourning.
No corpse to cry over
death toll rises by the minute they say,
as if beating hearts
and dreams for the future
can be reduced to numbers and statistics: 4651.

In an apartment 2909.60 km away from Gaza,
a family is in mourning.
The silences are louder now,
filled with anxious anticipation;
is that what it was always like?

In mourning, my father’s eyes
have become smaller, and his hair
more gray from grief.
My mother, you can actually
hear her heart break
for all the Palestinian kids, women, men,
in all her delicious meals,
the folded fresh laundry
and frequent phone calls: Will you
be home for dinner?
There are no visitors
nor condolences in our home. Yet,
in an apartment 2909.60 km away from Gaza,
a family is in mourning.

Empty spaces, which are only a few
in a well-lived space like our home,
hold the void of loss
which repeatedly get filled
with consecutive whispers:
‘There is no power
and no strength except with God’.
Silence.
Screens in every room
are lit up with news channels
and updates from the ground.
More silence.
‘There is no power and no strength
except with God’.

Eyes are all cried out,
but somehow prayer mats
are more wet with each prayer.
Hugs last a little longer these days,
followed by a gentle squeeze
as if to say: “I know, I know,
but God is on our side!”
In an apartment 2909.60 km away from Gaza,
a family is in mourning.

We run into each other
in complete darkness
in the hallway of our home,
seeking strength and patience
in the last third of the night,
responding to the divine call:
“Who will call upon Me
so that I may answer him?
Who will ask of Me
so that I may give him?”
-We are helpless my Lord, help us!
In an apartment 2909.60 km away from Gaza,
a family is in mourning.

-October, ‘23