I Watched Gaza Burn From My Bed

Fatima Zahra Gul

i made tea

while gaza lost internet.

they bombed jabalia

like it wasn’t filled with sleeping children.

like it wasn’t already rubble the last time they came.

al-ahli hospital glowed orange,

not with hope,

but with 471 lives turned to ash

in one breath.

the news called it a “misfire.”

as if that soothed the mothers

pulling body parts from broken prayer mats.

i saw amal and mohammad kneel beside

their dead siblings.

their faces older than their years,

their grief aired live,

then forgotten.

i remember hind rajab.

six years old.

trapped in a car surrounded by her family’s corpses,

whispering “they’re shooting… come get me.”

they found her twelve days later.

bullet in her head,

rescue team dead beside her.

i remember her voice

more than the silence of those who could’ve helped.

i scroll past pictures of rafah

where tents fold in on bodies like grief.

where water is a privilege

and bread is a miracle.

and from my room;

with the fan on,

with a full plate,

with the guilt of breathing,

i stare.

gaza dies in real-time

and we livestream our helplessness.

i don’t know if it’s protest

or performative.

i just know

i haven’t been able to sleep right since october.

More from Fatima Zahra Gul ↓

* @fatimaasarchive_ on Instagram

You can listen to me read this poem over on Instagram @rembrandts.cure

Mentioned in this episode:

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