December 21, 2024
Drowning Cactus by Laila Shawa, Dalloul Art Foundation.
October is the cruelest month
When I was three,
My mother accompanied me to the shore.
The rejuvenated waves, like my childhood lullaby,
played, touched our souls while playing heavenly music in our ears,
Hand in hand, my mama and I sang together, "Twinkle, twinkle, little star."
From seashells, my mother crafted a necklace.
And she wrapped it up as a gift.
"Don’t lose it," she urged me.
In the beginning of October,
I experienced rebirth.
As a 23-year-old, I slip down the cliffs of time.
In solitude, I found a shapeless sky.
The stars dim and light faded.
The sea waves were raging now, yelling, throwing seashells fiercely onto the shore.
With a heavy heart, I began to collect them one by one.
And I imagined them as martyrs,
torn forcefully from their lives.
But their memory survives—
Like the seashell necklace my mother hung around my neck.
Lubna Ahmad Abu Dahrouj turned 24 years old two months into the war. She loves writing, and believes in the power of words. This poem was published in collaboration with the newsletter, Refaat Writes Back.