sunday morning poem

on gaza seashore

i convince myself that a palm tree never bends

nor do its dates rot.

i imagine the sky only occupied by birds

and swollen clouds.

i walk alone along the beach and never fear getting drenched

by the cold, silent waves.

should you find me asleep, be sure i am either

dreaming of roses and doves or staring into the void

beneath me.

i will dress in my rosy suit and walk to the port,

even though i know no ship is arriving.

my hope is that you will come flying to me

on your tireless wings.

i will collect seashells and pebbles to build a house

for us on the beach until you come.

i don't know how many houses i will have built

before you come.

i'm afraid i will rebuild gaza by then.

by mosab abu toha, from things you may find hidden in my ear, city lights books, 2022