They stole my soul

They stole my soul And dumped me in the hole My dreams got frozen As my death was chosen My thoughts were imprisoned And my flesh was poisoned The air we share was full of gas So I hold my breath, hoping for death As I get told "you're in the hold" Which made me gasp in despair Because I can't breath this air I'm a mole in this hole with no soul

By Mohammad S Arafat

Do not hug me!

Do not hug me, I don't deserve it.
Do not touch me, I am diseased and unclean.
Do not smile at me, I am hideous and ugly.
Do not let your heart sink if you see me
Instead let it harden with hatred for me.
Do not think of me with fondness
Only remember me with spite.
Do not be kind and gentle with me
Instead spit at me, hit me and kick me.
Do not want me, I am surely an embarrassment.
Do not love me, I was made to be hated.
Do not mourn for me when I am gone
Throw me in the trash and be glad I am no more.
Do not hug me, I do not want to feel your touch,
I don't deserve it.
I am the monster in your nightmares
And deserve to be dead!

The lonely tree

If you but knew what it meant to dream; to dream of freedom, of flowing rivers, of burning kisses, of walking and resting with a beloved, gazing at one another, eye to eye; of resting and watching the stars. If you but knew, your heart would turn to me.

If you but knew what it means to long in the lonely nights, with storms raging all around. If you could hear my silent screams of pain. If you could see the tears I shed, if you could feel my pain, I tell you, you'd long for death. If you but knew how alone I was, waiting for your call, your touch, your embrace, you'd come to me.

If you but knew what it meant to live, to feel the wind blow through your soul, if you but knew the beauty I have inside, if you but knew me, you'd long for me. If you but knew, the lonely tree is me!

Mirror!

A mirror only reveals what everyone can see, but a mirror fails to reflect the beauty within' the soul, the part of you that no one can see; the only people who see the 'real' you, are the ones you let in and the ones you touch by your actions!

A letter to Ban Ki-Moon from Gaza.

For the Desk of:

His Excellency, Mr. Ban Ki-Moon
The head of the Security Council
New York
USA

From the Desk of:

Mr. Pen
A Gazan Victim
A Palestinian citizen carries the hoarse voice of the people of Gaza to let the world hear it.

Dear Sir,
Thank you for letting me take just ten minutes from your precious time. Thank you for allowing me to have the rights to write this letter for you, your Excellency.

Dear Sir, I don`t know where to begin and even how to begin writing you this piece of words. I don`t really have enough power to let my pen write the suitable words for you, your Excellency. Dear sir, I`m a simple citizen from Gaza, Palestine like anyone lives in this stricken city, if it`s a city. We have the same pain and the same suffering. We have the same status and we all are one belongs to our widow mother Palestine.

Dear Sir, I know and everyone knows that we have the rights to speak up and to seek our stolen freedom. We have the rights to live like anyone in this world and to find our imprisoned joy. We also have the rights to breathe clear oxygen and to eat the least food. We have also the rights to travel and to study like any simple citizen. And those rights, of course, are called human rights and everyone must have them. So where are those rights? Sorry sir if I made you angry at me, but that`s because I`m forced to say that. Forgive me please.

Dear Sir, what shall we do to get our rights? What shall we do to live like others? Why are we prevented from life? Are we from another planet called a planet of strangers? Are we slaves? Why is it inevitable to live under control? All Gazans and I have many whys to ask, but my pen would be exhausted from mentioning them.

Dear Sir, I used to live, like all the families in Gaza, with my family in safe and sound under a simple home. Everything was alright and we were happy enough. But from the beginning of the current brutality on Gaza, I would never call it a war, I left my home. I left my books and my pens. I left everything that I used to live with. I left what made me happy . Why does that happen? Are we terrorists? Are we murderers? I don`t think. Dear sir, I`m sorry if my words annoyed you, your Excellency, but please let me tell you what happened with me as a Gazan like what happened with most of the families here.
Dear Sir, before leaving my home, I have seen what no one would see or even dream of. I have seen what made me sick for more than a week. Shall I tell you what I have seen and witnessed? Sorry if you don`t want to hear, but my pen forces me to mention it.

Dear Sir, I was sleeping in my bed dreaming of my prospective future, like anyone in Gaza, that I would build. I was dreaming of getting the master from any great country like USA, UK, Turkey or Malaysia. I was dreaming of how I will feed my family when I get a suitable job outside Gaza after lacking the jobs here. That beautiful dream was interrupted by my mother when she cried out a warning at me in a morning during this aggression" Wake up dear son and hurry up". I woke up directly without a thought and rushed towards my window. I slapped my forehead when I saw the massacres in front of my eyes in our street. The skies were as dark as the moonless night even if it`s day. The atmosphere was full of gunpowder, so that forced me to close my nose. The black burnt bodies of women and children were spread everywhere in that desolate street. Women where running without their babies not knowing whether they would die or live. Elders were creeping like children not finding anyone to help them. The men with their black faces were looking for their lost children under rubble. The homes all round my home were destroyed. My attention got rapt after what I have seen. Suddenly, my dad came quickly and picked me up and then we rushed towards the stream of the refugees. We began our tiring journey as others to an unknown safe shelter to stay in.

Sorry dear sir for making you sad, but I just want to know why that happens to us. Are we animals? If we are animals, I think there must be institutions for the animals` rights. If we are not animals, so who we are? Why does that happen? Sometimes I think of making suicide or hurting myself. I feel that I`m hopeless in this life here in Gaza. I feel that I have no goals from living this life. Shall I live or die? What shall I do, your Excellency? Shall I make a suicide or shall I wait? If I want to choose the second choice, until when shall I wait? What can I do? Please I need your advice, your Excellency. It`s not just me saying that, but all the families in Gaza are in the same position of suffering and even more than I suffer.

Dear Sir, I want to know when the innocent Gazans and I will achieve our dreams. Will I get the master in one of the big countries? will I get a good job? Please advise me and let me know what to do.

Dear Sir, sorry if I stayed too long writing my words. Sorry for annoying you again, your Excellency. But please let me ask you the last question that all Gazans wish to hear its answer from you, your Excellency. Dear Sir, until when will we stay under aggression? When will we get our least rights? When will we get our human rights? When will we get our stolen freedom? When will our children get their imprisoned childhood? When will they smile and live like others?

Finally, I would appreciate you, your Excellency, for paying your precious attention to my simple letter.
Thank you very much

A bunch of greets from Gaza, Palestine and its people.

Mohammad S Arafat(Mr. Pen)

Freedom

To wake up each morning, feeling blessed. Feeling the sun shining on you. Having clean drinking water, taking a shower, while listening to the birds singing enchanted love tunes; phoning family and friends telling them the joys you've planned for the coming days ahead. Walking down the street, breathing the fresh air, smiling at passers by, while secretly remembering happier times and imagining even greater times to come. Embracing life, that is what freedom is; the choice and freedom to do normal everyday things. Having the choice to be happy or sad. This is our God given right. Allah gave us free will, to be free!

Can you begin to imagine living in a world where you were imprisoned on a tiny strip of land, not having the ability to work, drink clean water, have a bath; and having no electricity for 20 hours a day. Being called a terrorist because you were born on this tiny strip of land; being shot at, bombed, robbed, prevented from doing anything, including receiving medical aid. This is what life is like for the people of Gaza.

 Lots of people call Gaza an open air prison, but it is so much worse than that. Prisoners have rights, three meals a day, learning and counselling opportunities, medical attention when needed, and not forgetting, at the end of their sentence, they get out and get their freedom back. Unlike the people of Gaza.

We are all equal, we are all the same, every life matters, every person counts. We all love and hate, cry and shout. We all bleed the same colour blood. We all need to be loved, but most importantly, we all need someone to love. I urge everyone to speak with the people of Gaza, see for yourself how kind, loving and caring they are; see how they welcome you into their hearts and family. Become part of them. Over the coming months I will be sharing the stories of a new writer from Gaza. Mohammad S Arafat. Fall in love with this beautiful young man from Gaza. Listen to his words and feel his pain, his longing, his ambitions. Like all people from Gaza, he loves life!