Hello, politicians.
Hello, occupiers.
Hello, colonialism.
Hello, presidents.

From the standpoint of flowers,
from the standpoint of love,
from the standpoint of peace, doves, trees,
and calm nature that hides behind it fighters who know nothing but orders.

Soldiers fighting soldiers.
Tanks demolishing houses.
Bulldozers uprooting trees.
Warplanes bombing homes, streets, alleys, centers, and hospitals,
and uprooting the seeds of love from couples.

Welcome to the hall of my poem.
How are you?
My name is (Hur).
I have nothing to do with politics.
I am the president of myself
and the director of my emotions.

My sincere emotions that do not lie.
My emotions that incite toward peace,
so that I may spread peace,
so that I may plant seeds of wheat everywhere instead of bombs.

Why are you in your positions
and forget that there are laws you studied when you were young—
about love and about humanity,
the very reason we exist here?

Why do you forget peace after the presidency?
Forget love after promotion?
Forget other communities once you put on the suit?

Why, and why—
and there is not even one answer
you can give,
not even to respond with tears, regret,
to resolve the matter, resolve the conflict, resolve the problems.

My name is (Hur), from the Middle East.
I am 29 years old now.
Perhaps I will become older.
Perhaps I will die.
I do not know.

I saw the 2008 war in Gaza.
And the 2012 war in Gaza.
And the 2014 war in Gaza.
And the 2019 war in Gaza.
And the 2020 war in Gaza.
And the 2021 war in Gaza.
And the 2023 war in Gaza.

My life is wars.
Between wars and wars, I used to flee and return, flee and return.
But after the last war, I did not return.

I did not say goodbye to my garden,
because I thought I would return.
I thought the soldiers were angry
and would not demolish our houses.
I thought and thought,
but it was a mirage and dreams.

I left behind the garden,
the beautiful orchard,
and a chair I used to sit on.
Autumn leaves fell on it,
and spring leaves,
and summer and winter leaves,
until the rubble of the house fell on it
and it broke.

I returned in December 2024, at the end of the year.
I returned and did not find the chair.
I did not find the walls.
The house was partially destroyed.
The walls were broken, fallen to the ground.

On those walls was my name,
from when I was a child,
where I used to draw lines
to know how tall I had become.

Those walls heard my moaning at night
and heard my voice when I woke.
Those walls had nothing to do with the battle.

I returned filled with sadness.
I wished my hands were strong enough
to remove and gather the rubble with my hands.
I could not.
But I did not lose control of the hope inside me, despite despair.
I went and cleaned anything I could clean.

After days and weeks, a ceasefire happened.
I told my mother to return with me.
We returned and sat in the sad house, the broken house.

It was beautiful despite the fracture,
despite the destruction,
despite the bleeding clearly visible
in the features of my rooms.

My room heard the sound of tanks,
the sound of soldiers,
battles, killing, and destruction.
They placed an explosive robot behind my house,
and it led to the uprooting of all the walls.

But the house was standing.
I spoke with my house,
and it told me
that it did the impossible
to meet me,
to remain standing, tall.

After days and days,
my mother and I were the happiest people in the world.
We woke up, lit fires, grilled food, ate, and drank tea.
We went to plant.

I planted tomatoes.
I planted avocado.
I planted eggplant, cucumber, carrots,
and okra.

I was happy, proud of myself.
All the trees that were dead,
I planted trees in their place.
I had a hut on the land.
I slept in it, and my heart rested there.

After days and days, the battle began again.
The soldiers did not agree on a solution,
so the fighting began.
I was surrounded by the army and soldiers,
and gunfire around me.

I tried to stay,
because I had adapted here.

The fighting would calm after the afternoon,
and sometimes after midday.

But one day, in the fifth month,
after April ended,
the bombs returned
as if it were the First World War.

I went to my mother, took her, and we fled,
with fire and bombardment around us.
We took nothing with us except the cat 💔
We took no food, no clothes, no blankets.
I took the cat because it is a beautiful, innocent soul.

My mother and I fled.
People around me were fleeing and dying.

My eyes were strong
so my mother would not weaken.
So my mother would not feel fear.
I was brave
so my mother would not be afraid.

This is a small story
that tells you what happened to us, the innocent,
because of politicians.

What does a flower have to do
with the violence you love?