vetusanima - Tumblr blog

[vetusanima]

@/sofiasamarah

[vetusanima]

Palestinians are not "animals."

They are not "children of darkness."

Little kids are rescuing cats and trying to comfort them when they themselves are terrified.

A doctor broke down when his father and brother came into the trauma unit.

And several of his colleagues hugged and gathered to comfort him.

Journalists are playing with babies.

Doctors are refusing to evacuate hospitals because their patients can't and refuse to leave them.

There's a little boy who gives tea to the journalists and thanks them for spreading their stories.

He's displaced at the hospital, his home is gone.

A kid was asked what he wants to be when he grows up and he said kids in Gaza don't grow up.

Kids are writing their names on their arms so they can be identified.

Momin Kireka is a Palestinian journalist who was disabled by an Israeli attack in 2008.

And despite the difficulty in moving around, he vows to continue to show the world the truth.

Awni, a young Palestinian boy has a gaming YouTube channel he loved so much.

He was killed in the bombing.

Mohammed Sami was an artist who's dream was to open an art gallery.

He was playing with the kids to raise their spirits. And the next day he was killed.

They are victims.

They are going through unimaginable horrors and still find it in their hearts to be kind.

They have hopes and dreams just like you and I.

They are people.

And they deserve to be recognised and known as such.

[vetusanima]

The onset of winters, for me, is marked by the distant sound of trains' horns and the loud cries of the two Kashmiris who come each year to sell shawls and suits. There are times when I wonder what they do during summers or the number of odd jobs they must do to get by, having been driven off from the place they once called home. I remember when we used to play on the street during evenings and there they would be, maybe they had chosen other streets for the mornings and afternoons this time, the time that was usually ours.They would stand and watch us play for a few minutes, smiling. Smiling because in those few minutes they could forget the responsibilities and accusations that had been placed on their shoulders at a tender age; smiling because we were the embodiment of the childhood that had been snatched from them, yet a few memories of it alive, glittering in their eyes.

All of a sudden, remembering that they still have a cart full of shawls and the like which they have to sell by dusk, they set off again in the pale orange light of the evening. I, habitual of their presence by now, stare after them, my thoughts in a place I've never been to, Kashmir. Though I know they'll be back next winter, I can't help but wonder why summers are so long.

[vetusanima]

You seem to be unmindful

Of all those antics of yours.

Thought them insignificant, even;

Another facet of the humdrum existence that is yours.

But I'm not one to dismiss

All that you've ever been,

For you are a puzzle

And always have been.

No matter the neatness

Of all the parts I've collected,

Putting them together, they always come undone.

Nonetheless, I keep trying for I want to know,

But when I think I have I've all the pieces I've always left out one.

~A.A.

[vetusanima]

[vetusanima]

Abdel Kader Haidara, the librarian who saved Timbuktu´s ancient cultural treasures from al-qaeda

[vetusanima]

Someday, when my frail wings are strong enough to lift me to the skies, I shall drink the world in with these hungry eyes.