Status Updates From Forest of Noise: Poems

We no longer look for Palestine.
Our time is spent dying.
Soon, Palestine will search for us,
for our whispers, for our footsteps,
our fading pictures fallen off blown-up walls. 💔

“…Inside my suitcase are some clothes of my father, mother, two sisters, and three brothers. I also have their shoes and slippers. The suitcase is their new home and I want to put it in a safe place. And I also have my father’s favorite books, mainly poetry books and short stories. He never had the chance to finish a novel. You know, wars and work. » 😭

Sir, we are not welcome anywhere
Only cemeteries don't mind our bodies