A Story Untold

My name is Anabelle Wilson.  I am sixteen years old. I live in the state of Maryland in the United States of America. I wrote this poem, A Story Untold, for the people of Gaza, and I hoped that it would help people understand the horrific atrocities unfolding there in ways that normal conversations could not.  

 

I wrote it after watching a livestream on Instagram by a Palestinian journalist.  He and some other journalists were on the roof of a hospital—the only place where they could access any kind of internet.  As the night went on, more and more threats arose—a sniper, a quadcopter, the bombs that filled the air, the sound of the tanks approaching…

 

That night I stayed up late, terrified that they would all be dead the next morning.  It was the biggest glimpse I’d ever gotten into what they experienced every single night, and how it just kept getting worse and worse.  In my desperation, I started writing this poem. I just could not believe that so many people could be ignoring or even cheering this on.  

 

Why? Why would anyone ever wish this upon the Palestinian people, or any people?  How could they willfully avert their gaze?   Because of the land the Palestians live on? Because of how they look?  Because of their faith?  

 

My faith in humanity was dwindling fast. Thankfully, the amazing journalists on the roof of that hospital lived. They lived to experience virtually the same exact thing the next night, and the next, and they continued to livestream until they no longer had enough internet service to do so.  They are still alive, still struggling to survive, but over 32,000 Palestinians have been killed.  

 

Since I’ve written this poem, I have met so very many incredible people who are standing up for Palestine in the United States of America.  I am so inspired by them, and inspired by the people of Palestine. I’ve come to the conclusion that some people truly are ignorant and I am hopeful that their eyes will be opened to the truth of what is happening, but that I can’t change everyone.  

 

Somehow, some people really can look at what is happening and not bat an eye.  But I have learned that I can change and better myself and stand resolved in my belief that everyone should have the rights that my country claims to stand for.  

 

We can’t bring forth someone else’s humanity for them.  We can only bring forth our own.  

Here is my poem.  Free Palestine!

by Anabelle Wilson

Imagine a night

with so dark a plight

you cannot rest, sleep or dream

because your dreams are just nightmares

imagine a time

when you’ve committed no crime

but the bombs that light the sky

come to steal your precious breath away

imagine a sound

that makes your ears pound

with each shot like a jarring drumroll

cutting short stories barely begun

imagine a song

most mournfully sung

with the last sweet sparks of hope

a defiance to the bullets of despair

imagine a fear

ringing in each ear

of bodies of loved ones lost under rubble

gone with your memories of happier days

imagine a tank

the cruor so rank

as they charge over children, mere bumps in their paths

one tank times a hundred with no soul, just a gunman

imagine a hope

so soft in its’ scope

so light ’twill be smite by the incoming might

a hope for remembrance of all that has come

and a hope to go home   oh how the tears run

now imagine you’re not imagining

and this hell is happening

to you        

ask yourself what you would do

or close your soul’s doors

when you will hear no more

ignorance is bliss but it comes with a toll

one only felt by the depths of your soul

which knows of that night

and aches at the thought

of that true story untold