Translated from Arabic: Evelyn Teo
How can language help you write down what you witness with own eyes but don’t understand? How is it possible to carry on putting thoughts on paper and translating how you feel? You are dead. Dead in every intellectual sense of the word.
You may still be breathing because a rocket has yet to split your lungs in two. You may still be able to see because your head hasn’t been dashed against a wall yet, from the force of an mortar explosion.
But you are dead.
The sky seems to be angry with Gaza, it showers the earth with body parts, that land on pavements and the middle of each street. Normal life has become a distant memory, like a ghost you chase in a dream. But everyone in the dream is dead, even you are; it’s just your body has yet…
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