Written by Rushna Ahsan
speaking of his dreams for me.
I can sense one of those hands still around me,
the other crushed like the dreams
he dared to see.
Dear World,
Did I do something wrong?
Please forgive me for the sins
I never intended to commit.
My infant hands can’t curl around stones,
can’t hurl bombs,
nor have I laid my eyes yet
upon the place you plot
to make your home.
You buried me alive under metal & stones –
broken bones of my womb’s home.
I am sorry, but I just got here.
Am I too late?
Has humanity died already?
Dead bodies in graves don’t cry but
living babies buried under rubble do.
Are there no living hearts left to hear me?
Tell me please,
why have you condemned
your own children to
build their lives upon
the haunts of my lonely cries?
Do you really believe
This is how they will thrive?
When the roots are drenched in blood
only rotten fruit will arise.
Yours truly,
Born into a Grave
(in Gaza)