Three heart wrenching poems from Gaza
- Text by Yahya Alhamarna
- Photography by Yahya Alhamarna
Writings that narrate — With Gaza’s population facing starvation, we are handing over our website to Yahya Alhamarna, a displaced poet and student in Gaza, who shares some of his recent poetry, and explains why writing is so important to him.
Gaza is starving right now. You’ve probably seen the images, which are horrifying and soul crushing. Despite Israel allowing foreign nations to airdrop aid, experts warn that the parachuted packages are nowhere near enough to feed its population, and leave vulnerable families without access to it.
Today, we are stepping back from our usual slate of publishing features, reportage and photo essays, to hand over our website to Yahya Alhamarna, a poet in Gaza and political science student at Al-Azhar University, which was destroyed in bombings in November 2023. He has been displaced from his home, and like so many others, is now a refugee in Gaza.
“There’s no food,” he explains of the current situation. “We only have lentils. We eat a small plate of lentils as a meal a day. Sometimes we [have] bread, but not a lot. I go to bed hungry. Sorry to say this without any shame, but I swear I go to bed hungry. We suffer a lot. Please help and support.”
Writing is not just letters on paper; it is an act of survival, a voice of resistance, and a promise for tomorrow.
It is my commitment to myself, to humanity, and to those who will come after us in this world stained with ash.
In moments of bombardment, amidst displacement and hunger, I find in writing a space for deep understanding.
When words are spoken, they are chosen hastily, but when they are written, they pulsate with deep contemplation, a message that escapes loss.
My pen writes so that I don’t forget, so that my memory isn’t erased, so that I can survive.
A Paper Plane
I wish I could be a paper plane for a few minutes
A paper plane that hugs the sky and freedom
A paper plane decorated with the colours of the beautiful Palestinian flag
A paper plane flying to any place I want
A paper plane drawing a smile on the face of the Gazan chile
I wish I could be a paper plane for a few minutes
A paper plane flying in the sky with determination and strength
A paper plane hugging our loved ones that we lost in the sky
A paper plane that says I am here in my sky, I am more beautiful than your stupid planes
A paper plane with a strong soul made by Palestinian hands
A paper plane that has a sky and a beach and the winds and love and life
I wish I could be a paper plane for a few minutes
A paper plane that carries me to Jerusalem and Ramallah
A paper plane that takes me to the West Bank and its camps
A paper plane that demolishes the apartheid walls and makes me hug my loved ones in Nablus
A paper plane that gives me fresh air and hope
Pen
I walked slowly beside my grandfather, Mustafa,
on our way to Lebanon.
But we had misread the compass.
Instead of leading us there, it guided us to beloved Gaza.
With each step, I carried hope in my heart –
hope that one day In would return
to my hometown, Zarnoqa in Palestine.
I believe that dreams do come true.
I learned that in school.
Suddenly, I was pulled from my imagination back into reality.
A cowardly soldier, with a rough voice
and a strange appearance, stopped us.
He asked, “Do you have any thoughts
of surrendering?”
I replied, “I don’t know that word
I haven’t seen it in my dictionary.”
Angered, he searched me
and then arrested me.
I was stunned. “Why?” I asked.
He said, “You’re carrying a dangerous weapon.”
I looked a him, confused. “What is it?”
“A pen,” he replied.
All I had in my bag was a pen.
I Pondered
I think and feel
that one of the beautiful things
that happens to a human being
is to have enough power
to sit somewhere
far away from the sound of bombs and fear
that follow him
everywhere
Carrying with him a small notebook
And it is in his pocket always
He writes a lot of things
Past, present and future
Hopes and fears and plans
Experiences and tears and moments
They remain preserved in memory
Writings that narrate
what we are living
Sometimes when I’m coming back from the beach near sundown
The moon starts to become visible
I look at the moon
like a little child
and I feel the moon is walking with me
to every place I go
It walks with me
step by step
I look at it and I smile
And I wave my hand
at it
I miss sitting with the moon without missiles
Yahya Alhamarna’s friend has set up a fundraiser to help him build his next chapter when he makes it out of Gaza. Find out more here.
To help aid efforts on the ground in Gaza, consider donating to Medical Aid for Palestinians (M.A.P.) or the Palestine Red Crescent Society.
Consider emailing your local MP to demand that the UK stops transferring arms to Israel, download a template here.
You might like
In photos: Black Texas life since emancipation
Kinship & Community — A new photobook and exhibition showcases the rich culture, history and community of African American folks in the Lone Star State, whose existence in the region predates colonial Britain.
Written by: Miss Rosen
Youthful joy & end-of-era poignancy at a London school prom
Leavers — For several years, Lewis Khan documented young people as they celebrated the last of their school days and the completion of their exams. The series is now collated in a new self-published photobook and short film.
Written by: Zoe Whitfield
Harry Gruyaert’s vintage, kaleidoscopic scenes of New York
A Sense of Place — For 50 years, the Belgian photographer and Magnum Photos member has been capturing NYC’s colourful chaos. A new photobook and exhibition showcase his unique, technicolour view of the city.
Written by: Miss Rosen
Inside Lower Duck Pond, the nicest town on the internet
/r/HaveWeMet — With a population of 2,500 and no fixed location, the subreddit is a space for roleplaying citizens to solve mysteries, host fictional events and ultimately connect. In an internet that’s often divided and toxic, Vicky Jessop hangs out in one of its most wholesome corners.
Written by: Vicky Jessop
A major Nan Goldin exhibition is coming to London
You Never Did Anything Wrong — Opening at the Hayward Gallery in November, the show will debut a new film from the artist and activist, alongside a slate of recent work.
Written by: Jack Dennison-Thompson
Sepia splashed memories of Britain’s ’90s squatting and free party scene
Bygones — Moving into a Hackney squat at the age of 19, Tom Hunter spent years living on London’s edges, while documenting the vibrant, creative community and culture that it enabled. Huck’s art director Sam White chats to him about the freedom that existed, the collectivism and what’s been lost over the decades since.
Written by: Samuel White