Shortly after the terror commenced on the 7th of October, I reached out to a friend of mine in Barcelona about how helpless I feel. She felt helpless, too. Attending protests and screaming outloud hasn’t stopped the terrorist state in its genocidal undertaking to kill children and innocent Palest!nians. Out of helplessness and hopelessness, the… Continue reading The Watermelon Writing Workshop in Barcelona
Tag: poem
January 2025
Is it 2025 already? I no longer perceive time. The Palestinian flag that the student union hung last year has lost color, fading away, and yet the genocide machine still busy: eating us alive; starving us from the inside; disbowling our sanity. I think of Gaza everyday. Some days I am hopeful and other days… Continue reading January 2025
May 2024
May is mighty. May is sad. May is relentless. It’s a month of Nakabat (catastrophes); of Massacres; of Mayhem. May is for workers and workers for May. Yesterday, the Columbia Gaza Encampment was dissolved by the NYPD forces, arresting tens of students and throwing away their tents. They think that robbing us of the material… Continue reading May 2024
April 2024
T.S. Eliot wrote in his Wateland: April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers.” Life seems unreal. 6 months of live-streamed genocide. What is sanity… Continue reading April 2024
November 2023
Pablo Neruda lived in Madrid during the Spanish Civil War, and upon being asked why aren’t you writing poetry about lilacs and philosophy? he responded: come look at the blood in the streets Venid a ver la sangre por las calles. How can I write a POETIC TIMES post when a genocide is taking place… Continue reading November 2023
The Creative Writing Space in Ramallah رام الله
The driver of the yellow mini van(service as we call it, which refers to yellow mini vans that are used as means of public transpotation in the west bank. There’s no schedule: once the service is full, it takes off) pointed towards a hole in the apartheid wall and told us that we should take… Continue reading The Creative Writing Space in Ramallah رام الله
The yellow daisies at night
Are like a bald head of a devout monk Like a flipped golf stick. Like a ballerina in the midst of the jump The petals are her fluffy skirt. Yellow daisies at night are like a kneeling woman, washed by the shore. They are bold and brave, They lower their yellow petals like a tablecloth,… Continue reading The yellow daisies at night
Minutes before breaking the fast
My cousin knocks and enters without waiting for me to open the door, She comes in holding a plate of Msakhan, sometime of stuffed zucchini, And my mom receives her and hurries up to give her something in return- A Ramadan trade-off. The mouazzen starts to pray 15 minutes before the official break of the… Continue reading Minutes before breaking the fast
The night after they unearthed a mass grave In Tantura
I couldn’t sleep. I’m visited by ghosts demanding justice. Unearthed too little Too late, Unrecognized by their own doers. How can I sleep when I have guests? Dates, nuts and tea What my grandmother taught me about hospitality when I lived in the village. But that is not enough: Makeshift beds and mattresses out of… Continue reading The night after they unearthed a mass grave In Tantura
AICHA BINT YUSIF 