Familiar ache

The familiar ache stepped by my heart again
entered without even knocking on the door, 
carelessly, killed my warm feelings and sat there instead. 

In the heart of my heart, 
it brooded on the memories, 
etched every one on its wall, 
throwing 3 bombs in every inch they behold:
one to destroy, 
one to sting,
and one to enjoy. 

It rudely sang after, "Don't you worry; 
I'll never leave your side again. 

In every crying sound for a limbless child, 
I'll be there;
I'll embrace every grieving eye;
every evacuee's sigh
and every rubble on your site. 

I'll come around 
when you hear bomb sounds or massacre news; 
or when you witness an orphan stitch his thick parenthood cloak
with grief and duties he had never known.

I’ll never leave your side
when you behold a father
bidding farewell to all his martyred sons, 
All at once.

or the opposite:
when a child is left 
to be the one "survivor" of their family,
pulled from the rubble
crying for parents who won’t answer
not now nor ever.

I’ll stick around when you hear
an infant is killed
not only by bullets or airstrikes,
but by famine, fear, heat, or illness.”

The familiar ache sticks with me every day,
for in every new day, 
a new agony unfolds; 
a new killing, we behold. 

The familiar ache stepped 
over my fragile heart again and brought, 
this time, their children with it.

About the author

Haneen Alisawi is a writer based in Gaza. You can find more of her testimonies and writings on We Are Not Numbers.