Look at our bloody hands (BOTM August)

They never come to see you, you know…and the time, it doesn’t flee

The sadness that tried to hide behind the black of my eye…it failed

And the white of my eyes has changed its color

You, sir! You ask if the redness is an infection…you think this place, the people, the living and the dead, they die of infections?

Pity…it’s a pity you see all but nothing. No worries. Let’s make you a little aware of what happened to ‘our’ eyes. Oh yes! It’s not just me…You see, when they say ‘We Are One’, they mean it. None here has had the chance to save a single soul from that missile that hit that tall building – the one right around the corner

Ah yes! Now you are thinking straight. I am talking about the exact same building that had more than 20 families living in it. It’s mere ash now and soot of course. Well…that’s just how things run here. People come and go. Buildings stand and fall. Only one thing remains the same – the missiles. Now if you excuse me, I have matters to attend to

There were times when we had nights so peaceful and dark. One could hear the sound of cricket and follow a firefly. Now our nights are as bright as day and not in a good way. There are so many noises and lights. Sometimes I feel like my eyes won't be able to see what will appear later and ears won't bother working, and if you ask me, I'd rather be happy if both these senses of mine stop working. At least there will be no blood to be seen and no cries to be heard.

But all in all, the nights are still a blessing. For in nights, my fellow Muslim brothers and I don't have to look at our bloody hands while saving the dead from changing to ash and the wounded ones from misery of Death.

It's a blessing that people here don't cry anymore, for they have mourned the worse and can bear the worst.

"All Muslims are like a single man. If the eye is afflicted, the whole body is afflicted." This Hadith kept us going and still is. But the others...

They don't come here to see and those who'll come...well, I guess we will have to wait and see if anyone's even coming!

As long as I breathe and you, my Diary, aren’t burnt, I think we both can wait. We have time, right? But if I go to never come back, you have something to speak for me if I'm gone- “My name's Aale and I am from Gaza and I have the courage to ask the world to look at our bloody hands and see what they aren’t seeing and tell if it's always the killers who have blood on their hands!'

Areeha Arshad

Batch'25