Wasfiya Musa Suleibi.

A poem for my husband's dear grandmother. 1937-2024

It is a curse
to grow old 
in Gaza 

You are born 
homeless 
unrecognizable 
to the soil 
that holds 
your ancestors

Refugee 
they call it. 

Adolosence 
marked by 
war 
the British and some foreigners
they look the same to you. 

You decided to have kids! 
6 
Ahmed, Majid, Khaled, Walid, Hussein and 
one girl 
Halima. 

Majid is killed 
Khaled imprisoned 
Ahmed got sick. 
Halima left Gaza. 

And you, you still live in the refugee camp. 
This time though, the camp
has walls 
built ontop of your tent 
cement 
with asbestos roofs. 

Your family grew 
grandchildren, many 
then they were few 

You outlived young lives
Ansaam, Hassan, Mohammed Khaled, Majid Jr., Hala, Mohammed Hussein, Ahmed 
Except no one wanted to tell you
you outlived young lives. 
Heart too fragile, they said. 

You left your first refugee camp
to go to another refugee camp
this time, 
for good. 

And your children? 
They finally told you 
that you outlived 
young lives. 

1948.
2024. 
War then.
War now.
War forever. 

Do not grow old in Gaza. 
Do not outlive young lives.