In these dark times, it’s important to closely watch what information the media feeds us. For me, there are people whose words I trust. People who, in the past, have proven their advocacy for truth and peace. They are poets, bloggers, journalists, and even comedians. These people help educate me and inspire me to find my own voice.
Khashayar Mohammadi’s poem for Palestine is as heartbreaking as the videos I’ve seen (or avoided watching) in the past couple of weeks. The minimal string of words they have chosen to put together is more telling than many stories. Each stanza leaves you with a sense of guilt deeper than faces worth of tears.
Guilt has been my starting point. I feel the guilt of having a normal life. Of being privileged enough to sit by my window, watch the drizzle outside, and be able to do what I like (write) from the comfort of my home. I feel the guilt for breathing recklessly and for feeling safe. But maybe I can do more than feel guilty. Maybe just being anti-suffering, anti-hate, and anti-violence is not enough. As someone who usually feels lost during these crises, the best advice I’ve heard these past few days has been to urge congressmen for a cease-fire, stop scrolling “mindlessly” through social media, and seek education.
In the end, I am thankful to all the people who have brought me closer to feeling and understanding what is happening between Israel and Palestine. I will keep learning and feeling for my fellow human beings. I will pray.
Please read Khashayar’s poem below and follow them on their Instagram page @dearkestrel for more.
Untitled by Khashayar "Kess" Mohammadi
bombs fall
to dismiss the siren
you find a penny the same way you
find yourself midway through a phone
call
friendly checkups
unintended screaming
the nurse the cop the corpse washer
more intimate than any lover
mouths unsweetened
by salt and vinegar
Just upper-bodies
for lowered bridges
Bedbugs in Black Europe/
Zionist hummus where eyes burn
from cigarette smoke
and war, inventing children as it goes
the greatest wish is the simplest
desire to breach
picking death
out of our morning coffee
Maryam Shadmehr 