To the child who came out of the rubble,
You asked, am I going to the graveyard? Your face is chalky white, powdered with dust, your eyes dazed and wide. Surrounded by white ashen rubble, the buildings around you are half-pulverized, like giant tombs.
“No, you are alive and shine like the moon” came the reply from the man who carries your small body. Maybe it was your uncle, or maybe it was a kind stranger. I think of the kindness and care of those men and women who rescued the children like you, digging out little bodies crushed under the rubble.
You survived the bombs and came out of the rubble.
I think about you and I hope you are alive. You would be a year older now, after the war has claimed a year more of your life. I hope that you can one day go back to school, and that you will live a dignified life once more.
I am angry for you and I am angry at the West. I feel sick and ashamed that the world could allow this. An ocean separates us but we are under the same moon. I want you to know that I stand with you and with Palestine, and I hope you are alive. Wherever you are, I hope you shine like the moon.
Yours,
Olivia