A caravan of souls walking on ashes,
carrying their homes in their eyes,
their keys in their pockets,
their dreams hanging in the sky.

Children walk barefoot,
their cries running ahead of their steps.
Mothers hide their tears
behind a tired smile,
so the little ones won’t break further.

Men look back,
as if saying farewell to an entire lifetime,
then move on with a heavy silence
broken only by the sigh of defeat.

In the camp
the tent cannot hold the heart,
the cold sleeps beside us,
and hunger counts our breaths.
Yet, in spite of it all,
we plant a small laugh among the ruins,
we light a candle in the darkness,
and we tell the world:
we are not refugees in our own land,
we are roots that remain,
stretching from beneath the rubble,
declaring that life
will never be defeated.

Mohammed is aged 17 and has spent the past two years besieged in Gaza with his family. He would really like to study at a university abroad.

Poetry submissions to thursdaypoems@gmail.com.