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Writer's pictureLara Flanagan

They do things differently in Gaza

Poem

They do things differently in Gaza.


Somebody asked me this week if I was going to give the whole “Palestinian thing” a break over Christmas so I could look after my mental health. There are times of late when this world has made me weep, gnash my teeth, howl at the moon and fight waves of rage, but not once have I worried about my mental health.

 

As most in the West prepare to dine at laden tables and celebrate peace on earth and good will to all, I hope we remember that others are facing the unimaginable. Many in this world don’t get a chance to look after their mental health. They are too busy fighting for their survival in the most desperate battle of all. Their battle is even being live-streamed, but never fear, we can put down our phones and say, “Merry Christmas.”

 

We don’t have to worry about conflicts that are not our concern because they do things differently over there. The priority is that we look after our mental health.

 

They do things differently in Gaza

 

Siblings hold each other differently in Gaza.

Placing tiny hands and severed limbs

in plastic bags because

they will not leave

one part of them behind.

 

Mothers say good night differently in Gaza.

Butterfly kisses on tiny noses

with prayers that death come swiftly

to their loves,

so they are not left all alone.

 

Fathers hug differently in Gaza.

Last and final

desperate embraces

of their beloveds

wrapped in funeral shrouds.

 

They do things differently in Gaza.

 

 

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