Birds in Paradise
To the hearts that endure, the hands that hold strong, this poem is for you, Palestine. May you find peace, as vast and endless as the sky.
O children of Gaza
Your faces are curtained with Noor
Much brighter than the blue cubicle partitions
That you poked holes into with your tiny fingers
To gaze at your parents’ faces
As they lie cold on the surgeon’s table.
You were too afraid to shed a tear
In case the names inked onto your arms faded
Before you could memorize the letters
That you hadn’t been taught to read yet.
O mothers of Gaza
The abode of the righteous lies beneath your feet.
In the fathomless darkness, you lit kerosene lamps
To remove debris from the single pound of flour and sugar,
Having stored them in the cracks of fractured walls
In case your home collapsed overnight
And your children awakened to your body wrapped in a white shroud—
You wished to leave them sustenance and sweetness amidst it all.
You nursed the martyrs,
Buried their wounded souls in the folds of your hijab
As “Mama” has not a face, but a heart that bleeds
Upon the sight of discolored cheeks
And the empty pages of coloring books,
Their imaginations never had the chance to meet.
O fathers of Gaza
You’ve spaded the earth into the graves of your beloveds,
Carried your children atop your shoulders
Hoping they would peek over the cotton lakes
And ask the Almighty to descend His mercy upon the
Descendants of the land scented with lemons and dried figs
For only He knows of the grief that burdens your heart
And the blemishes on your knees that tally the hours
Spent performing the Janazah for the brothers and sisters
Scattered across the pebbled streets.
O Allah Subhanahu Wa Ta’ala
You’ve harbored their souls in the bellies of green birds
Nested in the chandeliers that hang from your throne
You’ve granted them the freedom to wander about in Paradise
Above the rivers of honey and milk flowing through
The gardens of fragrant blooms and radiant pearls
And indeed that is what they deserve
For they’ve stood before you in the ruins of hospitals and mosques
With their palms raised and hearts softened,
Uttering the words,
Alhamdulillah for everything
O mankind
In the darkest night,
Illuminate your hearts with compassion
And cleanse your soul with the grief that lingers
In the absence of your loved ones
So many of us have died in masses
As the living are not solely dependent on life,
But also the humanity that guards one’s soul.
For Gaza is a test of our moral conscience
So you must sit with the grief of a Palestinian mother
And steady the shoulders of a Palestinian father
As you would with any other.
Heed the cries of a Palestinian child
For they do not shed tears for lost toys,
Rather their homes and their families
Even before the loss of their cherished youth.
And so tonight,
When Allah releases another flock of birds
Into the opened gates of Paradise,
Think of not only what has been lost
But what will be forgotten
If we unearth the olive grove
Before bathing in its fragrance.
Here & Now: Girls Write Now 2024 Anthology
Do not read this book, unless you want to know what real humans are thinking. Taking poetic license to express things in ways that make AI fear it will be replaced by humans, the stories in these pages reflect the here and now: a collective urgency as the pandemic recedes, the world overheats, wars overwhelm, and the national discourse is conducted in a language far from love. In these pieces, cooking unites families, supermarkets become places of connection and adventure, neighbors evolve into mermaids as the sea levels rise, and every month nails are trimmed to cut down memory. The smallest gifts in life become impossible blessings of gratitude. There is a sense of battle with the norms and an understanding that things are not right, but they will be. This anthology is evidence of a future worth fighting for in which the long tradition of building community through the written word is upheld during the highs, lows, and everything in between.
Process
The relentless horrors and suffering in Palestine overwhelmed me, leaving me feeling helpless and filled with immense pain. The atrocities playing out before my eyes, especially the suffering of children, families, and the innocent, brought a sense of unimaginable grief. There were days when I simply couldn’t find the strength to go on. However, my faith offered solace. One day, while searching for comfort in the Qur’an, I read the verse, “Never think of those martyred in the cause of Allah as dead. In fact, they are alive with their Lord, well provided for” (Al Qur’an, 3:169).
This verse breathed new life into my spirit. It reminded me that even in the darkest hours, faith and hope endure. Inspired by this revelation, I began to write “Birds in Paradise”. I wanted to give voice to the voiceless and find a way to honor the lives lost in this unjust struggle. In the process, I discovered the power of writing to channel pain and suffering into something meaningful—a testament to the resilience of the human spirit.
Shaila Moulee
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Shaila Moulee
Shaila Moulee is currently a sophomore in high school who aspires to pursue her interest in the field of literature. She is a young Muslim girl who recognizes the importance of her Bengali-American background. Her writing centers around the notions of youth, life, family and the phenomena of the natural world. Shaila is always eager to experiment with literature! She is passionate about composing material on the grounds of poetry, personal narratives, short stories and even songwriting. Her persona is encapsulated within her written pieces as she continues to document her experiences with the world around her.
