Fatma Hassouna, Gaza’s eyes by Sepideh Farsi – Liberation

I have no CV/ recognize two mysterious eyes/ and I believe/ I have no history/ a clear/ for a stranger to believe it. And he believes./ I have no physical characteristic defined/ flying/ outside this gravity/ and I believe./ Maybe I am announcing my death now/ before the person in front of me loads/ his chicker rifle/ and ends his work./ for me to finish./ Silence.

These are the words of Fatma Hassouna (Fatem for intimate), the beginning of a long poem being called The man who wore his eyes.

A poem that smells of sulfur, smells of death already, but which is also full of life, as Fatem was, until this morning of April 16, before an Israeli bomb mowing it, she and all her family, reducing their family home to dust.

She just turned 25. I had known it at random from a presentation by a Palestinian friend in Cairo, while I was desperately looking for the way to go to Gaza, hitting myself with blocked roads. I was looking for an answer to a question that is both simple and complex. How do we hold under the siege? How do we live under the bombs? I had just finished my film the sirenspeaking of the Iraq-Iran war, which had a distant taste of shock waves