Anil Netto

Letter from a beautiful soul trapped in Gaza, the ghetto turned into meat-grinder. The monstrosity of our time. "I Didn't Come Out of War War came out of me It came out of my flesh, my hair, the cracks in my heels, my breath that has turned blue from crying I walk each day in this cemetery called Life. We survived? For what? Who said that those who came out alive came out unharmed? We came out dragging our entrails in nylon bags. Today I live, oh... I live But not like other people live I crawl from the hour of sleep to the hours of nothingness I chew dry dust as a declaration of survival I count my breaths so I don't die by mistake And every morning I hate the sun for rising The sky above me is a torn black cloth full of holes From which the souls of martyrs escape And from which the scent of my mother wafts as she cried kneading bread They told us: Adapt! How does the hole adapt to a child's body? or the wall to the absence of its family? or the picture to the missing wall? My heart adapted to no longer delighting in the lemon tree that grew up with us. I am the stone I place on my chest every night So I don't fly away from my fear. My shadow is very light, because I've abandoned everything heavy: Homeland, Memory, and Fairuz's Voice in the morning. I don't have a dream. I am beyond the dream. I am the remains of a dream that slept on the ground so long that it became rubble. Survival is not Salvation; survival is the slender betrayal of those who have passed away. Survivors are tested every day with the same questions: How are you still alive? With what heart do you sleep? With what mind do you reminisce? Life, if it were to return, would find us sleeping in the dark. All we want is for daylight to tiptoe past us and let us remain asleep where we can forget our old names for we no longer recognize ourselves. If I die tomorrow, Bury me standing up So I don’t look idle in the grave, as I did in life. For hunger steals sleep, And oppression steals prayer, And war has stolen me..." -Hudia