Poet Basil Abu al-Sheikh leaned forward in his chair, toward a crowd of about 50 people, to recite his poem. It was late December and we had gathered in this camp west of Deir al-Balah, in central Gaza, to listen to the works of those poets present.
The sun was setting and the tents glowed orange as a cold breeze reminded us of the harshness of displacement in winter. The Israeli occupation planes and drones could be heard above us. Some of those gathered sat on the ground, covering themselves with worn blankets or burlap sacks, while others sat on plastic chairs.
Abu al-Sheikh recited his poem in a defiant yet sad tone.
The shackles have wounded my heart, not my wrists
And the night has made my eyes sleepless like the stars
Neither tears nor blood are enough
And I no longer know whether my tears or blood have flowed
The crowd applauded for Abu al-Sheikh, and after the readings were complete, I went to speak with him…..more
