Remember Gaza
As you prepare your meal, remember Gaza.
There is someone whose home was bombed today, who died with hunger still in his heart.
As you eat, remember Gaza.
There are those who longed for a mouthful of food, but found nothing, and were forced to keep fasting.
Before you close your eyes, remember Gaza.
There are those who no longer know the comfort of sleep, but have learned to fear it.
When you wake, remember Gaza.
There are those who fell asleep on earth and awoke in heaven.
When you laugh, remember Gaza.
There are hearts so heavy with grief that sorrow has become their only language.
When you go to a hospital, remember Gaza.
There are those whose blood could no longer be cleansed, who turned pale and died because no ambulance could reach them.
When you hold your children close, remember Gaza.
There are parents who lost every child they had, left alone like a prophet without followers.
When you travel, remember Gaza.
There are people who no longer know what it means to hold an airline ticket in their hands.
When you fall ill, remember Gaza.
Your illness is a blessing beside the wounds, the slaughter, the blood and the scattered remains.
Tareq Abu Azzoum
Journalist in Gaza
Works as a field correspondent and reporter for Al Jazeera
