Yesterday I was listening to a poem by Tamim Al-Barghouthi about Gaza and a good part of it was dedicated to the children of Gaza, depicting their suffering and the atrocities inflicted upon them by the Zionists. He talked about children pulled from under the rubble of destroyed houses, children scattered in a hospital’s hallway, covered with a woolen blanket stained with blood. But perhaps the line that got to me the most was that at the end of the poem, which says, adressing the murderes of children:
أدري بأنك لا تخاف الطفل حياً… إنما أدعوك صدقاً أن تخاف من الصغار الميتين
I’m not big of translating poetry lest the esthetics and the meanings get lost in translation, but this roughly means:
YOU MIGHT NOT BE AFRAID OF THE CHILDREN WHO ARE ALIVE
BUT DO BE AFRAID OF THE ONES WHO ARE DEAD
As I heard those lines my eyes shifted to my little niece who was sound asleep in her bed. I imagined her in the place of those children. I imagined her afraid of the shelling and the falling bricks, not knowing what is happening or why. And just by imagining that, my blood started to boil. Then I thought of those children who are actually going through all this. They too have parents and family who love them and would be torn apart if they got hurt. And I remembered an incident that happened earlier when we were out and my niece was running happily until she heard the noise of fire crackers, she immediately panicked and clutched me by the clothes, not wanting to let go.
But those were only fire crackers. How does a child feel when a war craft tears the air above their house, or dropping a bomb on the house next door.
This also brought back this to my mind
I saw this picture a while ago hanging on the wall of a restaurant in Amman. I was with an Iraqi friend who had had her own share of war-related casualties. As soon as she saw this picture she said: “This picture sums up everything about fear”
Don’t you think?