A Poem for Palestine’s Children, for their mothers, for loss, for grief
Child’s memory
The cold clings to dreams,
Frozen like scattered toys, in the dust of what was home.
While others light candles,
We count the stars through holes
Where our ceiling used to be,
Remember when grandmother
Named constellations for us, told stories
Of ancient heroes who never faced such dragons.
Now, we trace new patterns
In the debris of our street, looking for familiar shapes
In a world reshaped by thunder.
Happy Mother’s Day to all the Palestinian mothers who skip their meals to feed their children, who live in fear for their children, who become fighters and rebels for their children, and to the grieving mothers who pray to be reunited with their children in paradise
