The Olive Branch in the Moonlight

The moonlight of Gaza drenches the ruins.
My toys are buried deep in the rubble.
My father said the olive tree would blossom.
But bullet holes bore bitter fruit on the branches.
My mother wrapped my cries in a headscarf.
The stars go out in the smoke.

The sound of the mosque’s davening is crushed by tanks.
I dreamed of the Prophet touching my forehead:
“Allah’s mercy is like a desert spring.
Patience is the armor of the believer.”
But my bag was full of shells.
The pencil draws the outline of a broken wall.

O Allah, hear the prayer of a child.
Don’t let us become fuel wood for hatred.
Let the moonlight return to the holy city of Jerusalem.
Let olive branches grow instead of gun barrels.
The sweet cakes of A’ed (Eid) should belong to all children.
Instead of rotting in a ceasefire agreement.

I’ve seen soldiers tearing pages from the Koran.
I’ve seen a neighbor’s aunt nurse a Jewish baby.
The Hadith says that mercy transcends race and borders.
The soil we watered with our blood.
The land that we watered with our blood should have grown vines of peace.
The dignity of God is not vengeance.
It’s kneeling in the rubble and worshipping.
When I threw my last stone into the sea.
The waves bring back the names of all the children:
Palestinian, Israeli, Arab, Jewish-
They all call for the same dawn.
Lord, let the souls of the martyrs be transformed into doves.
Let jihad be a resistance to oppression.
Not the slaughter of lives.
We lie prostrate in the wounds of history.
Waiting for you to send the light of reconciliation.

Poem written by a child in Gaza, Palestine, before his death during Israel’s inhumane atrocities in Gaza!