Writing at my neighborhood café. Early morning as a raven sails on the wind’s currents high above. I pause, lost in the beauty, the grace of this bird. My spirits rise with its effortless flight.
Do birds still fly in Gaza? Do children look up, delight in a breeze caressing their skin, imagine riding on the backs of birds past border walls to Freedom?
Do birds still sing in Gaza? Is there a breath between bombs and shaking earth, when a bird’s sweet song can be heard?
Do birds still swirl and dance in formation, amidst drones hunting their prey? Without the birds to show us how, can the human heart still take wing?
Do birds’ nests remain in Gaza? Or have all the tiny eggs shattered in the rumble and thunder of war? Silence where the raucous chirping of baby chicks should cause an old woman’s cracked lips to smile.
Are there still trees to shelter Gaza’s birds? Sky on fire. Death above and below. Where do birds go when their homes burn to ashes? Where do they flee to find safety and calm?
Fly away! Fly far! Escape across the sea. Carry Palestinian memories and dreams in your songs. The people look up, listen and hope.
Do birds still sing in Gaza?
© Eisha Mason 2023
