My father decided that we would not carry anything from the house.
He left our belongings resting peacefully where they were,
Unlike those who emptied their homes
And surrendered them to desolation and abandonment.
He decided we would not carry the beds and couches,
Nor fill our bags with clothes for the coming winter.
He knows our return is difficult,
And far away,
As houses around us collapse and vanish.
He knows the road we took resembles days that never return,
And years of comfort we used to have.
So it is expected that we would dismantle the wooden doors and beds,
Like others before us did
In order to set them on fire
And cook on it.
But with eyes that resemble night only in sorrow,
And day in clarity,
He told us:
“If I must grow weary,
Let me at least dream that a soft bed awaits me.”
Haidar Alghazali
24/09/2025
(Translated by Palestinian Stories)
