Places
- “No Place Like Home”, Amera
- “Seeking a Safe Shelter”, Alaa
- “A Radiant City”, Mona
- “Escape”, Haya
- “Paradise”, Shimaa
People
- “It’s the Spring of Your Life”, Farah Elbahnasawi
- “Ala’a: The Perfect Soul, now a Martyr”, Ghaydaa
- “Silenced”, Osama
- “Peace”, Shimaa
Places and People
We are thrilled to announce the first publication of Voices From Gaza. This issue, ‘Places and People’, features written pieces by seven students from Gaza: Amera, Alaa, Mona, Shimaa, Farah, Ghaydaa and Osama. The pieces were revised by our student co-ordinators, Genista and Asala.
The issue comes in two parts. The first part, ‘Places’, reflects on how homes offer shelter and the impact of such protection being taken away. The second part, ‘People’, focuses on how those around us influence, and give meaning to, our lives.
These poems, stories and narrative accounts offer a means for those in Gaza to express their experiences in their own words. Fear, hurt and darkness are explored in the works you’ll encounter here, but you will also find a unified message of love, hope and optimism.
Places
No Place Like Home, written by Amera
لا مكان يشبه بيتي
لا بيت مثل بيتي
كلنا لاجئون دون بيوتنا
حتى خيمتي التي تدّعي
أنها مثل بيتي
إنها كاذبة
لأن بيتي يحمينا من المطر
ويجعل من صوت الرعد
موسيقى ننام على أنغامها
بينما خيمتي تجعل من صوت المطر
ضوضاء مزعجة تشبه
صوت رصاص الحرب
تُذكّرنا بصوت الإبادة
وكوابيسها المرعبة
ما ذنبنا؟
أن نبقى هكذا!
دون استقرار
دون أمان
حتى نفتقد ألوان الحياة
فقط، كلّ شيء بات رماديًا هنا
أميرة عطية أبو الحُصين
There’s no place like my home,
No shelter that remembers us.
My tent, which claims to be like my home,
Is a liar.
It promises shelter,
But delivers fear.
My home shielded us from the rain,
And turned the sound of thunder,
Into music that lulled us to sleep.
While my tent turns the sound of rain
Into the bullets of war,
Tricking us with terrifying nightmares.
What’s our fault,
To remain like this?
Without stability,
Without safety?
Until we lose the life’s colours
And everything becomes grey?
Seeking a Safe Shelter, written by Alaa
For three and a half days, our home was filled with fear and horror. My siblings and I were preparing to attend our daily activities when the unimaginable happened: another attack.
Once again, war had come.
My university, the primary and secondary schools of my siblings and I, the places of our neighbourhood were destroyed. No warnings. Our neighbours either martyrs or wounded. This was what we called “the bloody night”.
We harried and collected some of our clothes in one bag only, closed the door and left. These, the last few hours in our beloved home. That was the first time of many that we experienced departing from our home without even saying goodbye, without collecting our belongings or without knowing where to go.
We witnessed airstrikes, missiles, blood, bombardments, fears, and martyrs. During one of the many raids, my grandfather’s leg was injured. We called the ambulance to take him to the hospital because it was too dangerous to go out.
After long discussions with my uncle’s family, we decided to move south in search of safety. Then, the warplanes started targeting what they called a safe zone. The lie was soon uncovered. The south was not a secure place.
Living in crowded tents, with no individual rooms and no privacy, was unbearable. Our days were consumed with fetching water, baking bread, finding money for the simplest necessities, and struggling against hunger. Our homes and belongings were destroyed but also the memories we had built, the fragments of childhood and community that made our city ours. As the world continued on, we were, and still are, just trying to get back to something that is normal.
A Radiant City, written by Mona
Once, I lived in a radiant city, peaceful and free of noise, simply enjoying life.
I wandered here and there, playing for days and years, ignoring every boring moment, escaping from one life to another. I kept saying: “I’m still growing up—let me be everything, fully and freely.”
Suddenly, my sweet city turned dark, as if a ghost started haunting my dreams.
It swore to take me away, just as I used to love being free—but this time, I was taken out of my dream.
I woke up to nothing but tears and distant pain. The ghost still haunts the evil surrounding me. It devoured my beloved… and wants more.
I have no idea where to go—no shelter, no home. I only know that I need my mom. But the strange ghost took her away, leaving me here, missing her deeply.
Please… tell it to set me free and let me dream!
Escape, written by Haya
The walls quivered as gunfire ripped through the morning, louder, sharper, more vicious than anything I’d heard before. Apache helicopters hovered above us so low they made the house tremble like a frightened child.
By noon, the world outside our door was unrecognizable: bullets above, shells behind, tanks carving destruction into the earth around us. We stayed frozen for nearly eleven hours—prisoners inside our own home, easy targets if we dared to move. But the nightmare did not stop there.
The shells multiplied louder, closer, angrier than anything we had ever heard. Each one struck like a hammer against the walls, shaking the houses as if trying to tear them apart with bare hands. Bullets rained down on the homes, ripping through doors, windows, and anything that dared to stand.
Death was circling us, tightening its grip with every blast. We had no real choice. Either stay, and die, or run into the open, into the nothingness beyond, where death waited for us just the same. Yet still we had to choose. Everyone wanted to escape, to just make it out alive.
Then my dad’s voice cut through the chaos.
“You both need to run. We’ll follow.”
Leaving them behind felt like tearing out a part of myself.
“Go!” he urged, his voice shaking yet firm.
So, we ran.
Into dust.
Into smoke.
Into the screaming unknown.
Paradise, written by Shimaa
Sitting at the heart of nature,
green grass, and blooming flowers.
Smiling warmly with family and lovers,
forever and ever.
People
It’s the Spring of Your Life, written by Farah Elbahnasawi
What are you waiting for?
Shake off the dust of sorrow—
and smile.
Run.
Laugh.
Enjoy.
I tried to rise,
but my legs lay still,
like those of the elderly
weighed down by years,
struggling to take a single step.
I longed to laugh,
to hush the noise inside—
but my throat locked up,
my voice stuck on mute.
I wanted to, I tried,
but all in vain.
Laughter, it seems,
is no longer defined
nor does it even exist
in my own mind.
It’s my turn to enjoy,
to laugh until I cry.
I hear echoes of laughter
bouncing in my chest—
and here come the tears,
falling like glowing pearls.
But barely,
barely,
could they be
out of joy.
It’s the spring of my life—
this, I know.
But why is everything
caught in stillness?
Why is everything
covered in ice?
إنه ربيع عمرك
ما الذي تنتظرينه؟
انفضي عن محيّاكِ غبارَ الحزن
وابتسمي،
اركضي،
اضحكي،
استمتعي.
حاولتُ النهوض،
لكنّ قدميّ التصقتا بالأرض،
كقدمي عجوز طاعنٍ في السن
أثقلتهما مرارةُ السنين،
وصارت الخطوةُ عليهما
أشبه بالمستحيل.
اشتقت للضحك بصوتٍ عالٍ،
لعلّي أُسكتُ الضجيجَ في داخلي،
لكنّ حنجرتي انغلقت،
وصوتي علق في الصمت.
أردتُ ذلك، بل حاولت،
لكن عبثًا…
يبدو أنّ الضحك قد نسي طريقه
إلى عقلي،
أو قد انتهى وجوده داخلي.
لقد حان دوري الآن
أن أستمتع،
أن أضحك حتى البكاء.
سمعت صدى ضحكاتي
يرتجّ في صدري،
وها هي دموعي تهطل،
كاللآلئ المضيئة.
لكن محال،
ضرب من الخيال،
أن تكون هذه الدموع
دموع فرح.
إنه ربيع عمري،
هذا ما أعرفه،
فلماذا إذًا
كل شيء غارقٌ في السكون؟
ولماذا إذاً
كل شيء مغمورٌ بالثلج؟
Ala’a: The Perfect Soul, now a Martyr, written by Ghaydaa
*Family and Ala’a’s role*
Every family has a backbone. Ours was Ala’a! our strength, our joy, and our protector. Today, he is gone, a martyr, leaving behind a silence that nothing can fill. Each member of my family has a special role, in gatherings, happy occasions, or suffering. Except for Ala’a! He carried all these roles at once.
Ala’a was the dutiful son to his parents in life and death, the compassionate brother, the tender-hearted father who worked tirelessly to bring to his children what they need, the loving husband, the generous neighbour and the loyal friend. His small family lost their house four months ago, and now they lost its pillar. Our hearts cannot bear such a devastating and grievous loss.
*The Moment of Loss*
On Tuesday, August 26, the calls started to come to my uncle, Ala’a’s soulmate, saying that an ID belonging to this young man, Ala’a, had been found in the hospital. My uncle chose to convince himself that the ID had simply fallen while Ala’a was walking and that he was fine, though reason would reject such a thought.
I could hear the sound of my uncle’s heart breaking. The scream of grief rocked every pillar of the house, the same house that had just witnessed our laughter eight days earlier when Ala’a visited us with his joyful spirit and unmatched friendship. “Abu Omar” and “Ala’a” are two bodies with one soul, and two minds with one thought.
*His Acts of Love and Kindness*
Ala’a walked a vast distance to help his cousins to bring water. And to turn the tents into a place to live in, as much as is possible. His cousin said that there were not only tears in his eyes but also in his voice.
But Ala’a didn’t just help his family. His generosity extended to his friends and everyone he cared about. One day, Ala’a ran into a neighbour who was searching for diapers for his baby. The next day, Ala’a went to the market and bought diapers for his neighbour’s baby from his own money.
*His Children’s Grief*
My heart aches when thinking about Sham, the eldest child of the martyr and his soul. How did her innocent heart bear the loss? What about Sameer, a baby boy born and orphaned in the same war, curiously searching for a face he will never see again? They are children. Now, orphans.
*Words from Loved Ones*
“Our last conversation was just a few minutes before his martyrdom. Suddenly, he stopped responding to me. I didn’t know that he would not respond forever.” Asem
“Ala’a was helping people without telling anyone. He hated to talk about his charity working among people. He was generous and honest.”- Saed
“I can’t get out of our conversations. I am scrolling through them like a lost soul searching for a shelter but finding none.” Thaer
“It is incredibly difficult to receive condolences for someone who was lost in a blink of an eye.”- Mohanad
*Life After Ala’a*
No more can his relatives and friends be happy. No more can they laugh. No more can they accept life. They lost Ala’a, their pillar, and we all lost his love and kindness.
Silenced, written by Osama
Palestine will be free,
All the world they can see.
Doubters tell us to flee,
“This”, we say, “will not be.”
Post bombing, sand is mud.
We are drenched. What’s this flood?
No water, just bad blood.
Killing all, and flower bud.
“We condemn!”, so they say,
And claim, “for you we pray.”
In coops, they safely stay,
Leaving us, just to pray.
We must unite under one voice,
Come, now, support us in our choice.
Peace, written by Shimaa
Under the Shining Sun,
a girl in a white scarf.
Sipping a cup of warm tea,
brightened by the green leaf of mint.
أصوات من غزة - Voices from Gaza 