Written by / Aliaa Zidan
My name is Habiba, I am ten years old, a Gazan from Palestine, the land of the prophets.
My little brother Omar, he loves me and I love him.
I give him endless hugs, and that’s why my mother called me the giver of hugs.
I loved Gaza and life very much.
I aspired to be an artist. To spread the culture of Gaza and Palestine,
the nature of our lives here, and our suffering here as well.
One day in October, the neighborhood around me was bombed, and I was very afraid.
I ran to my room and my pens. I grabbed a piece of paper and started drawing
while I was crying in fear of the sound of the bombing around me and the destruction in the window of my house.
But suddenly; The house was bombed, and on the paper remained blood that once belonged to me.
It left my body, leaving my remains here in proud Gaza.
For what sin was I killed?
I was deprived of my dreams and my life died with me in the eyes of my family.
I left life, but she did not leave, and Gaza will never leave.
There was a lover with you, hugs hug-giver that I wanted to last,
but here I am in the bliss of heaven.
المزيد
رثاء العلّامة المحدِّث أ.د / أحمد عمر هاشم بقلم: امل اسماعيل احمد احمد
الكتاب بين الأزمة والتطور بقلم سها مراد
مرآة التخلي بقلم الكاتبة كلثوم الجوراني