Love poems for Gaza

In the Gazan Wind:

A boy dances in the wind

It carries the ashes of his siblings and his home

The only one he’s ever known

The one that forced him to grow into a man before he ever had the chance to experience life

The children fly kites of white cloth and long tails

They bid farewell to their childhood and fantasy

For tragedy is no longer just a figment of novels

He shovels dirt into a grave that belongs to his mother then shuffles into a food line

Hours go by, and he’s acquired but a single bag of bread

Spread the portions thin for we have a war to win and the famished will never survive

He wonders if it’d be better if he lived or he died

The water’s run dry and the bullets are flying

He’s trying but his little body is struggling

The suffering is just too much to handle

But, in his dreams he still holds his mama’s hands

How the sand has gotten in his eyes

How his tears have forgotten their very purpose

But, when nothing is certain the people take to the wind

To the Heavens

With a message of peace and longing

Of dissolving from this Earth and evaporating into the sky

With the wind

With his siblings

To a paradise on high

Hind Rajab:

6 years old

Several dead bodies

Surrounded by gunfire and she’s the last one surviving

They’ve died long before the sky turned dark

Her heart races as the boogeyman nears

Fear does not capture the feeling

She pleads with the paramedics to come get her

Not to let her die, too

6 years old, her hands are tied

I cry on the other side of the screen

I can’t reach her

No one’s been able to reach her

The demons are closing in

It’s worse than she could ever imagine

Worse than dragons or vampires

The floor is lava and the car’s full of dead passengers

Hell is a place on Earth

And the world is sleeping on a hurt child

The Caged Bird:

The caged bird sings of freedom

Kept in captivity, but she recalls the wind

The vastness

Before sadness and sorrow

The caged bird sings of tomorrow

But, her key no longer fits the lock

The clock is ticking

The metal is rusting

What is justice to the free bird?

A dizzying thought

A test of faith

A willingness to enter the cage

Amanee's family story -- in her own words:

I am a Palestinian- American who has never stepped foot in Palestine. All I have are stories and videos of my grandparents home that was built generations before them and is still standing. It's currently being protected by my cousins.

My grandparents were kicked out in 1948 and were never to return. It was my grandpa's dying wish to be by his olive trees. My last grandparent passed in 2021 without having fulfilled the wish of returning back home. The majority of my family was displaced to Jordan. I remember growing up my mom would tell us to tell people we were Jordanian to avoid social backlash. I remember in 5th grade looking for Palestine on a globe map and only finding Israel. I remember protesting in college to divest from sending my tuition to Israel and being denied every year. Stuck in a predicament where I need a degree and am powerless to the industrial military complex. I paid to kill my country and stay quiet about it. They have silenced and dehumanized us to this point today.

I never understood why I wrote as a child. So much so that I abandoned it at 12 so that I could focus on college. But, I came back to it after graduating and felt at home in my body again. Still not knowing why. Then I learned about Al Hakawati, the storyteller. Hakawati is the ancient Arab art of storytelling. It is an intricate weaving in and out of stories where the storyteller begins with one tale, leaves mid-way to pick up another so on and so forth. It was THE means of entertainment and oral tradition of the region. I asked my mom about it last year and she told me her grandfather was a Hakawati.

It finally makes sense. I will never abandon myself again.

I will never let them erase us.

I won my first award for my writing with a piece on Palestine (on the topic of Compassion) on 10/1/2023 and then 10/7/2023 happened. I don't have the adequate words to encapsulate this experience. But, each piece I write is a love poem to Palestine. More specifically to Gaza these days.

I give myself to it.

Until freedom.

Amanee Izhaq

About the Author

Amanee Izhaq is an award winning Palestinian- American poet andproducer through Be Still Media Foundation. Her work has been featured on KPFK 90.7 FM, LA This Week, LA River Arts, Falastin Literary Magazine, Los Angeles Poet Society Press and more. She has performed across the country, alongside Poet Laureates, and has assisted in the creation of multiple productions including, The Lightning Machine by Grammy nominated Spoken Word Artist, Sekou Andrews. Her work takes

influence from Hakawati, the ancient Arab art of storytelling, and specializes in immersion. Amanee is a first generation college graduate with a Bachelor's degree in Psychology from UC Santa Barbara.

Her work seeks to understand the psychological complexities of our world and shed light on minority struggles. You can find her on Instagram @amaniishakk.