O world,
It’s the resurrection,
In all forms and shapes,
With its violence,
arrogance and tyranny.
The exhausted men
stand under the blazing sun
for hours or for decades,
to fill a gallon of water
immersed with sweat and blood,
The gallon that is not enough
to even wash their dark nights,
While they’re there,
they’re losing their dignity,
after they lost their homes
and dreams,
They curse what remains
of their present
along with their memories,
They wander and scream,
Tears are pouring down
from them like sweat,
but
without the sound of weeping,
They break into this hell
without hesitation,
For the sake of their hungry children,
in those dilapidated tents,
Where the blazing sun
is savoring in torturing them
And earth in starving them,
After all that,
Despair continues
with them and inside them,
Without waking up to
a glimmer of hope
in the upcoming days ..
In Gaza, the water queue is a form of “The Postponed Death” in life.
Dr. Ali Tawil