Phalapoem editor, 08/02/2025
(A dim, endless expanse. Silence, heavy as stone. A small girl, no older than six, stands alone. Her dress is stained with dust and something darker. Her curls, once neatly tied, are tangled. Her wide eyes search the emptiness. And then, from the shadows, a barefoot boy emerges—Handala, the eternal witness. He does not turn to her, but he speaks.)
Handala:
You are here too, Hind.
Hind Rajab:
(softly) Yes.
Handala:
How did they send you to me?
Hind Rajab:
I was in the car with my aunt, my uncle, my cousins. We were running away. But they found us. They didn’t stop shooting. Layan screamed into the phone. Then she went quiet. Then it was just me.
Handala:
You were so brave, ya Hind.
Hind Rajab:
I waited. I waited so long. I told them I was scared. I told them it was getting dark. I thought someone would come. Mama always said, “If you are lost, wait, and we will find you.” But no one came.
Handala:
They tried. The men in the ambulance tried. But the same hands that pulled the trigger on your family pulled the trigger on them too.
Hind Rajab:
(whispers) Why?
Handala:
Because they do not see us as children. Because to them, our lives are worth nothing. Because the world closes its eyes when our blood spills.
Hind Rajab:
I didn’t want to die. I just wanted to go home. To sleep in my bed. To feel Mama’s hand on my hair. I wanted to play with my doll. I wanted to eat kanafeh on Fridays with Baba.
Handala:
They took all of that from you. Like they took my land. Like they took my people’s homes. Like they take everything and call it their right.
Hind Rajab:
Will Mama know where to find me now?
Handala:
She will know. She will carry your name in every tear, in every prayer. And she will never forgive. None of them will.
(Hind looks down at her small hands, as if searching for something she lost. Then, she looks up.)
Hind Rajab:
Will I ever go home again?
Handala:
One day, Hind. One day, we will all go home. But until then, I will keep walking. I will not turn around. Not until they say your name and weep. Not until they remember what they did. Not until there is justice.
(Silence again. But this time, Hind does not look afraid. She takes a step forward. Handala does not stop her. Together, they walk into the endless horizon—one forgotten by the world, the other refusing to forget.)
