Did You Hear Who Died Today?
a poem
Listen to a reading of Did You Hear Who Died Today?
The following is the passage from Don't Look Left: A Diary of Genocide by Atef Abu Saif that inspired, or triggered, me to write this poem.
Faraj updates me about more deaths in our neighbourhood. More of our friends have been killed in the last week. I become increasingly afraid to turn my phone on and go on social media, lest I see more bad news. Even at night, as we get under my blanket in the tent, I hate the moment when Faraj or Ibrahim turns to me and asks, 'Did you hear who died today?' Last night I told them it was too much. I didn't want to hear it.
“Did you hear who died today?” one of them asks the hated question, the inevitable question, before they crawl under their blankets and close their eyes to the cold dark. 70 people in an overnight strike on Gaza City. 20 in an attack on Jabaliya. 5 people in a strike on a home in Rafah. At least 12 in al-Mawasi, including 3 children. Someone who told stories. Someone who taught their children. Someone who baked good bread. Someone they grew up with. Someone they respected and admired. Someone they loved— a brother, a mother, an uncle, a wife, a daughter, a grandson, a second cousin, a sister-in-law, a friend, an entire family, a newborn, killed in a bombing, shot in the head, tortured to death, burnt alive in a tent, crushed under rubble, disappeared, lost, gone. Tomorrow, or the day after, or another day not so far away, one of them will ask again the hated question: “Did you hear who died today?” But on this day, one of them, or more of them, will not hear the hated question. On this day, one of them, or more of them, will be the answer no one wants to hear.
Thank you. This is a brutally real writing of the constant pain and loss in Gaza. Never having been forced to live under such horrific conditions, I can only attempt to understand, to feel what is happening. Making it personal, about friends and family, happening every day without respite defies words. All while knowing that the only way to escape the question is to be the answer. I’m so deeply sorry that this is happening, that a government that purports to represent me is funding this, and that I am powerless to stop it. My heart is with you.
Beautifully written and I’m so glad it’s not read by any of the AI voices.
It’s the kind of poem I hope is read in Schools in the future.
Many in power will try, but we must never forget this.