Alive. Thanks for your prayers.

We don’t have any access to food or clean water. Winter is coming and we don’t have enough clothes. Kids are suffering. We are suffering.
The army is now at Al-Shifa Hospital.
More death, more destruction.

Who can stop this?
Please stop it now.

New poem in The Atlantic

theatlantic.com/books/archive/…

I’m live again. Two days with no internet connection no mobile services.
The bombing in Jabalia Camp was just 70 meters away from us. A whole neighborhood was wiped out.
💔💔💔
I tried to help but the massacre was big. I need help.

Intense airstrikes and tank shelling.
Please stop this!
My children and everyone around me are not safe.

Intense airstrikes and tank shelling.
Please stop this!

I’m so heartbroken, so heartbroken, so heartbroken.
One of my students got killed, along with his father, grandfather, & grandmother.
Wadee, my handsome, polite, and clever student (later a friend) doesn’t deserve this. Not the many other thousands of Gazans.

This is so cruel.

Please save this poem, recite to the people around you and tell them what happened to my home, and the homes of so many other people?
Tell them some families were buried under the rubble?

When Gaza got disconnected 2 days ago from the internet & from calling services, I tried using my iPhone to connect with friends using my Emergency SOS.
But sorry, it’s not available to us. We’re “human animals.”
If I couldn’t use my SOS system now, then when?
What the hell!

Please visit City Lights Bookstore & thank them on my behalf. What they’re doing is more than a poet can hope for.
And get a copy of my book.
If you can’t visit, send them an email. It’s on their website.
The table is in Poetry Room in the store. If you go there, send a selfie.

We don’t want to die.

Please don’t let a post stop reaching others. Just visit my profile and share what you can. I’m noticing they are limiting how many people get to see my posts.
Please see my previous post.

Stop the war!!

My youngest child, Mostafa, is three and a half years old and this is the third horrific war he is living, and hopefully surviving.
(Nothing practical has been done to protect him and his family. It’s been 20 days.)

my site is wherever
a rose grows,
wherever clouds cast their shadows
on roofless houses,
wherever a bomb does not fall,
wherever a child does not confuse
a cloud for bomb smoke.

On this white plastic bag, I can read:

Body parts from the airstrike on Abu Dalal house (Wednesday, October 26).
Inside are a foot and a thigh of a man.