Winter in Gaza

Under the rain
I walk on the street,
Rihanna’s voice in my ears.
You can stand under my umbrella
You can stand under my umbrella,
Under my umbrella, ella, ella, eh, eh, eh.

I close my eyes.
Drops like crystals glide down,
reminding me of when I was a kid,
reaching out my fingers,
trying to catch one before they melt away.

I envision my grandmother’s house
with me and my cousin
hovering around the fire,
savoring grilled chestnuts
and the smell of wet ground.

Rain brings that little child alive.
Some people run to hide,
but I welcome it with a smile,
wanting to dance in the drops
and laugh.

I send my thanks to the sky
for this moment of respite.

(Source: We Are Not Numbers)

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