As I make my way down Palestine street, I see 40 people crowding a coffin…all crying, hearts broken, lives ruined. This is just a fraction of whats happening in my land….
The streets I always walk down, abandoned. Now a ghost town… the people I always walk by and greet, just walk past me and do not even make eye contact. The mosque which always prays at certain times is now silent, leaving the wind and distant artillery shots to break the abnormal silence.
The buildings I always admire are all scarred with bullets. The school I would always walk by is now smashed and abandoned with the colourful street games now buried in dust and debris.
The bazaar…the place I have walked through everyday for the last 3 years…changed, I do not see anyone I recognize, it is now a beggars shelter with a horrid smell with people squeezing in for security fearing for their lives. A once peaceful joyful area brought to its knees.
Every once in a while I would see something that would take me back to 13+ years ago when we had peace, I would see children skipping in the street and playing football all happy. But that is because they are in shock and are too young to understand. Their eyes wide open like a window to the soul.
I walked down the road to see a lady limping, I place my hand on her shoulder to ask her if she needs help and the second I touched her she put her hands up and froze. Giving a look to me of fear, I was frozen from her stare, my country and my people are suffering. This is not right.
I walk into a coffee shop and see the news talking about my country. Showing my people in its worst state since 4 years ago. Children injured and families all screaming and living in tents. Their homes destroyed and no country to help us. All against us. The TV showing American helicopters shooting down on our buildings, bringing it down like it was a card house. This is my home…I cannot handle this.
Its not fair. We are civilians and have no say, we are not cared about. We are ignored. We do not need to be part of this war and never wished this, yet every day goes by and we still lose close friends and our buildings.
I enter a Mosque and see people crying their eyes out holding on to each other. Praying for this disaster to end, for the daily suffering to stop, for the innocent to not die unnecessarily. I see blood across the floor. I feel grief and powerless. I do not feel like I have a say even in my own country.
As I made my way down Palestine street, I do not feel like I am home.
Daniel Zibaee
April 15, 2016 at 4:46 pm
1) Capital letters and spelling
2) Apply what we discussed with Mr Price
3) Think about use of words. Avoid using figurative language that is heard often in common speech.