A decent cool breeze, which stands in the face of the pathetic hot and dry climate, silently penetrates the curtains in my room. I’ve just finished Fajir Prayer and was reading some verses from Quran. Then comes the noisy dog. I stepped toward the window, looking underneath to beg neighbor’s frantic dog: PLEASE STOP STOP STOP BARKING!
I felt the breeze. A cool breeze that refresh my fatigued soul. One heavenly breeze was the cure for the soul that was exhausted the previous year. At that moment, I remembered Rumi’s words:
The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don’t go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.
Don’t go back to sleep.
I don’t want to describe my own feelings. Since these feelings are very special to every individual. I have just realized that I always shout O’Allah, O’ My Lord, O’ My Creator.
But this month, I didn’t…
I was wondering why I didn’t complain to you, O’ Allah.
Why I didn’t ask you for what I really want, O’ Allah.
And why I was telling people around me: Oh folks I am unable to elevate my spiritual level anymore.
Yeah Ramadan this year is different…
I was really tired the month before Ramadan. My soul has declared the state of emergency since my spiritual reservoir was dramatically draining. I said to myself…Okay Lina, WAIT… WAIT … All your problems… All your problems will be fixed during Ramadan.
Waiting for Ramadan month was my mania. Since January, I was calculating the day… I mean the first day for fasting. How many days are left?! Oh my dear month come quickly!
All of us every year encountered a serial of problems that shot us forming hollow gaps in our hearts. What we gain are heavy hearts full of sadness, concerns and worries.
All of us every year wore the same shaggy souls, secondhand souls worn by the Old You. And what we gain are rough, harsh and coarse souls.
Without a cure for the the soul and for the heart, we will definitely be distorted people.
Ramadan was the purification month for the corruption that pervade both my entire heart and soul. Ramadan was my definition for tranquility and tolerance. It was… Ramadan was…
BUT… What happened to me?!
Actually I don’t know..
When people around me said there’s no excuse for you to say: you are tired. OH people… I am not trying even to say I am tired because of fasting. I feel that I am just like the person who fast and gets nothing from the fast but hunger. A person who pray at night but gets nothing from the prayer but sleeplessness.
My final exams were in the first four days of Ramadan. I was fasting during those days. I was reminding myself that I will gain calmness after finishing my exams although the mood of exams was dominant. This daily encouragement was like a notification message that pops up in front of my eyes: After your exams you will revive.
After my final exams….
No bright or rosy news.
I don’t feel the previous feelings of fasting, praying and reading Quran. What’s happening to me?! I go to the masjid for Taraweeh(Night Prayer) but I will be such a sleepy person who stands to pray then will fall on the floor at anytime. Luckily, the two women beside me are like prison guards who won’t let me even bow.
Am I weak? What happened to me?
Last year; The previous Ramadan . With the help of Allah, I was so strong person. I was taking -at summer semester- two most complex courses at my major. After Suhour, I pray Fajir then begin studying, go to the university at 8:00am and return back to home at 2:00pm. Of course so tired however so ambitious.
One lonely hour to sleep was my great drug. Again, studying and waiting for Maghrib to eat Futoor. I was extremely happy those days. Going to Taraweeh then return back and sleep at 11:30pm. Wake up to Suhoor at 3:00 am… whooh…. Sleeping nearly four hours every day during this whole month. Yeah my colleagues and my friends said that I am crazy yet I was happy doing all that study-stuff during Ramadan.
This year I didn’t take summer semester in order to spend this month for strengthening my relationship with my creator. What I frankly realized that my eyes don’t store tears…
As long as you use a knife, hold it tightly you are now the fighter. Fighting for your freedom, fighting for your honor and fighting for your virtue. As long as you use a knife, hold it tightly you are now the resistant. Resisting the common deadly silence, resisting the mad snakes’ cuffs and resisting the obnoxious humiliation. As long as you use a knife, hold it tightly you are now the free man. Free from the momentary fear, free from the fake panic and free from the deceptive horror. As long as you use a knife, hold it tightly you are now the greatest composer of new Palestinians’ anthems.
The large wall, where the gate of Bab Al-Amoud merged its shoulders within it, combined of two large towers. Like ‘Mashrabiyat’ in Khan Al-Khalili, small stone orients were projected from the towers and supported by short thick beautiful braids. On the top of the large wall, couples of Olympic flames are kindled by the sun at daytime. At night the flames solidified and appeared as Ottomans soldiers’ wearing old army hats protecting the inside city from any sudden attack. Thick chains with chunky pendants necklace has been placed kindly on the neck of the gate. Sprinkled magnificent jewels were sewed with the gown of the wall. Bab Al-Amoud will always remain the spectacular gate for Al-Aqsa Mosque.
My imaginations after the war, if I were a Gazan…
If I were a Gazan, I would first wipe the black ashes away off my face, clean my glasses and bend down to flick the dust off my clothes.
If I were a Gazan, I would see some parents telling me: Look at this photo… Look at this amazing child… He’s now in heaven, his father would add.
If I were a Gazan, I would wish that I didn’t attend the summer course and be away from my family.
If I were a Gazan, I would be grateful… extremely grateful to Allah that my family is still alive.
If I were a Gazan, I wouldn’t know if I were the only survival of my whole family.
If I were a Gazan, I wouldn’t be sure whether my friends surname would be erased from the files in the ministry of interior or not.
If I were a Gazan, I would remember how very panic I was in the apartment corridor due to the voices of the rockets. The voices were so near… so close. My little cousins were sitting beside me telling me not to be afraid. I kept my eye on them, they were smiling. I would remember when I was breathing heavily, trying to open my mouth. I would want to say something to them… want to cry, to shout. They were fearless. The building was shelled. I was the only survival there. I didn’t see those little children again.
If I were a Gazan, I would grieve not because of my ruined home, not because of my charming garden, not because of losing my beloved ones, not because of my bed which is now divided into two parts, not because of my broken mirror, not because of my burnt clothes, not because of that wired shape furniture that had been smashed… but because of losing the most valuable books… O my humble library…
If I were a Gazan, I would find the geology book… the only survival book… I would open it… my eyes would read: “This zone was considered dead land however after the volcano explosion this earth back to life again”. At that time I would be very optimistic. I would wish that Gaza would back again to life quickly.
If I were a Gazan, I would cry loudly somewhere. I would find a place where no one can hear or see me crying…but… there’s not even a single tree I could sit under it… I would eventually gave up and think about crying silently.
If I were a Gazan, I would compose the symphony of being alive.
If I were a Gazan, I wouldn’t wear like mourning woman… I’m homeless. My clothes which I was wearing now are treasure, at least for me.
If I were a Gazan, I would smile, for nothing… I mean I would like to try practice smiling.
If I were a Gazan, I might be without my left leg, without the right one… or without the both.
If I were a Gazan, I might be without my right hand, without the left one… or without the both.
If I were a Gazan, I might be blind.
If I were a Gazan, I might be deaf.
If I were a Gazan, I would know what patience means.
If I were a Gazan, I would know what tolerance means.
If I were a Gazan, I would know what belief means.
In the past Gaza slapped strongly Ariel Sharon (the serial murderer), he fled like a chicken with his coward army and called that “Withdrawing”. After a couple of years, he remained in a permanent vegetative state until his death.
So… what is going to happen to Netanyahu after this war?
No one knows, but he closed his mobile phone and disappeared.
BOYCOTT your ENEMY
BOYCOTT Israeli Products
Boycott for the sake of our children and infants who die every second
Boycott for the sake of these little pale orphans who are calling for their parents. The orphans who are crying while sleeping on the floor of their schools
Boycott for the sake of the fathers who lost all their families, their wives, their sons and their daughters. The men who lost their grandsons their granddaughters
Boycott for the sake of not being a part in this bloody genocide.
Boycott for the sake of sending smiles to Gaza instead of guns, bombs, rockets and missiles
Boycott for the sake of the pregnant women who were shelled while they were sleeping quietly
Boycott for the sake of the burnt people, people whom we can’t recognize their faces
Boycott for the sake of the Palestinians blood which flow in the roads
Boycott for the sake of the destruction foodstuff factories at Gaza
Boycott for the sake of the houses and large buildings which become ashes and dust
Boycott for the sake of the Humanity
All thanks to the countries that are boycotting Israeli products
All thanks to the individuals who are boycotting Israeli products
All thanks to the activists who are boycotting Israeli products
All humanity call for “PEACE“
In demonstrations you see people cry for “PEACE“
Human Rights for “PEACE“
We ALL know Nobel “PEACE” prize,
It’s given to people who establish wars
It’s given to people who commit massacres, race cleansing and genocides
It’s given to people who have murder genetics inside their cells
It’s given to people who did nothing to the humanity but destruction and grieve
It’s given to people who kill civilians with cold blood
It’s given to people who use forbidden weapons
It’s given to people who give grants and gifts to the one who kills children
It’s given to people who support all the above.
What does “PEACE” means?!
PEACE is an Undefined Word
PEACE is meaningless
PEACE is useless
PEACE is Fake
PEACE is Unreal
PEACE is a Lie
STOP TELLING US ABOUT PEACE
Where’s Cinderella, that owns this shoe?!
Where’s Cinderella, the one that her little feet can fit in this shoe?!
Is she still keeping the other shoe?!
Should we visit every home in Gaza Kingdom to know this little princess?!
Should we visit every home in Gaza Kingdom to let every girl try to wear this shoe?!
Should we visit every hospital in Gaza Kingdom to understand why her shoe is stained with blood?!
But we don’t see houses
Everything we see is a mess
Everything we see is piles over piles of stones
Everything we see is deep holes in earth
Everything we see is a huge amount of dust
Everything we see is bombs, missiles and rockets
Everything we see is black
Everything we see is grey
Everything we see is dead princesses
Everything we see is dead Cinderella little girls
Maybe the hospital she was in, DESTROYED, during the shelling
Is this little Cinderella under a treatment or under an operation?
Is that little beauty still ALIVE???!!!
Yesterday I looked
Into the empty skull of a
Face intact, back of head
blown away, smashed, empty skull, no brains.
And Father, weeping, imploring
his son to come alive
And play with his favourite toy.
I saw a photo of a young girl
Her face pock marked with shrapnel wounds
A tear escaping her eye
As she died.
We don’t see these images in the West because
we are coddled and swaddled from
images that might upset our delicate/sensitive/fragile/exquisite
Tears for the Palestinian people
Washing away the silence of genocide
Israel: cossetted and armed
by the American military-industrial complex
because waging war on Palestinian people
Israel – supported in its murderous actions
by Murdoch’s empire/CNN/NBC/ABC/BBC/Establishment media.
So I heed a call by a Palestinian:
Why the silence on Palestinian deaths?
5 dead Israelis;
so far 333 dead Palestinians:
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Four-year-old Palestinian girl Shayma Al-Masri, who hospital officials said was wounded in an Israeli air strike that killed her mother and two of her siblings. Shayma lies on a bed next to her doll, putting her hand tenderly on her doll.
Oh Lord ! Help Rima Sleep
Oh Lord ! Help Rima Sleep, May she become sleepy
May she grow loving to pray and to fast
Oh God Make her healthier each day
May she go to sleep and I will cook a delicious pigeon
Go pigeon bird, don’t believe what I am saying, I just say it so that Rima will sleep
Rima, Rima, beautiful rose of the prairies, you have shining blond hair
The one who loves you shall kiss, and the one who hates you will go away
Oh merchants of grapes and of jujube, tell my mother and my father
the gypsies have kidnapped me from below the tent of “Majdaliyyeh”
I will take you on a little trip, to place where there are prunes under the apricot tree
and each time the wind blows, I will pick an apricot for Rima
Hey Lina, lend us you kettle and you bowl
So that we wash the clothes of Rima, and hang them up on the jasmine tree
A ten-year-old Palestinian boy Khaled Shalat, paints at a hospital bed, in Deir al-Balah in Central Gaza Strip. Khaled entered the hospital to get treated following an Israeli air strike on his family’s house that killed his father Raed Shalat, 37, and wounded four others from his family including his mother.
Khaled drew a land. Khaled didn’t draw a house.Khaled drew three blue clouds, small yellow sun and six birds in the white sky.
Three tall flowers; Yellow flower, red flower and blue flower. Green tree, containing yellow fruit maybe its lemon tree.
You may think that Palestinians’ sanity is doubtful and you may think, also, that we have kind of idiocy or just brainless. No matters, if we have mental problems or other problems which are still unknown for scientists, try to bear our reactions toward missiles.
Living about 20 km away from Jerusalem makes us unable to hear the huge sound of sirens. If we were given the chance to hear that sound we would make huge party and give candies. Our reaction is that we are waiting for another and another and another and another and another missiles from resistance in Gaza to take revenge from these criminals’ Zionists who are destroying and killing our families in Gaza.
(The Impression after hearing the voice of missiles explosion in Jerusalem)
Hearing that voice resuscitates our souls that feels with depression
Hearing that voice frees us from all fears that we are sinking in
Hearing that voice gives us a lot of enthusiasm doses
Hearing that voice makes us shout loudly: “Allahu Akbar”
Hearing that voice makes us say: “you are surely helpless Zionists”
Hearing that voice informs us that Gaza contains heroes, not TV shows ones but REAL MEN
Hearing that voice makes us feel with dignity
Hearing that voice makes us believe deeply that Allah won’t leave His believers’ servants alone
Hearing that voice gives us hope that Allah will accomplish His promise
Hearing that voice indicates that Palestine will be free from bloody zionists criminals
Hearing that voice charges us with power, the power to tear our old dress
The dress of humiliation
The dress of shame
The dress of treason
The dress of deception
The dress of disloyalty
The dress of hatred
The dress of scrimmage
That voice still rings in our ears
Telling us take a NEW STEP…
After the Israeli troops withdrew, at dawn, angry Palestinians attacked the Palestinian Police Station, chanting against the security coordination. The Palestinian Authority officers fired lots of shots injuring two Palestinians!!!