“In Gaza,
we walk on three feet:
a right foot, a left foot,
and a foot of fear”
by Mosab Abu Toha,
Palestinian Poet.

By Amy Abdullah Barry

I never thought I would see dessert that way.
To me, crumble was merely crumble —
a great huddle of apple and cinnamon,
biscuit cascading to the swirl of my spoon.

Newshour:

Gaza fixed into an eerie moonscape —
Smoke rises from piles of debris,
bricks and concrete dust,
where homes used to be,

dusty people shouting for help,
blood like irrevocable stains on their skin.
The camera closes in on an old lady
frail as an autumn leaf.

Her head is in her hands as she describes,
“My mouth , full of stones, I can’t speak or breathe.
I remove the stones from my mouth,
screaming … I’m alive! “

I look up from my dish
and see our pristine festive plates,
our shiny photos and all the spoils
of a life lived at relative ease.

The last spoonful succumbs to my gentle nudging.
The old lady’s home is crumbling
just like my favourite dessert —
which I might never enjoy again.

Amy Abdullah Barry,
Poet from Penang
Living in Ireland.

• As seen on Al-Jazeera Newshour on 7th October. The Israeli bombing of Gaza—with thousands dead, hospitals at the brink of collapse, infrastructure crumbling—intensified.