Drawing of photography by Mohammed Salem, Reuters article.
Listen to the author reading Among the Dead
Among the Dead
Among the dead, the living feel safe. Not in buildings that bombs will strike at any moment and collapse over their heads, crushing and trapping entire families under dust and rubble, but in plastic tents pitched near rows of weathered graves in a cemetery overlooking Rafah and the Mediterranean. Every day more bodies are brought to be buried under mounds of sand and marked with crude cement blocks, one at the head and one at the feet. And every day the displaced, the desperate, the frightened and the weary come to seek shelter and comfort among the dead. Hunger does not gnaw on the dead, thirst does not suck their bones dry, pain does not grind down their spirits, loss and grief do not break hearts that beat no longer. The dead do not bleed and ache, The dead do not weep and grieve, The dead do not fear what trials, what terror, what torture await them today, tonight, tomorrow. Among the dead, the living carry on. Children play in the sand or pick tiny flowers from stubborn plants that crawl between, around and over flaking gravestones. Women hang limp clothes to air in the sun or scrape together what could be the last meal. Men tend to fresh graves or scour the sky for signs of death's imminent assault. A family of four huddles together in the sand, helplessly, hopefully, awaiting the day when they, like the blessed dead, will find peace and be free. A link to the Reuters article: Living among the dead



So hard to know there is no end in sight.
Thank you Diane for your literary genius and poignant expression.
Very good Diane - I enjoyed that one.