محمد عبد الفتاح أحمد
20/10/2007, 11:41 PM
كتبتها منذ عام تقريبا، غمرنى إحساس ملتهب بما يدور على أرض الزيتون، فانسال القلم على القرطاس مسطرا تلك الأحرف النازفة
A Palestinian Boy's Tragedy
Behind the lofty gigantic Israeli Separation Wall, horrific scenes unfold every day. A completely demolished Palestinian house, located in a dreary district created an air of gloom and destruction. In front of the debris, a bunch of girls and boys, tousled and shabbily dressed, were passing their small football to each other with perfect childish innocence. Their bare feet made countless stamps on the soft dusty ground, showing their tiny footprints. The ball kept bouncing here and there and rolling along the area they allocated for playing. There were olive- trees, not far-away, large, shady, and swayed by gusty winds. Suddenly, the winds abated and the trees stood still, motionless, with their drooping black olives out of reach. A strange feeling encroached on my limbs and heart; the smell of death wafted across the area. From a well-concealed position, a Jewish sniper shot a bullet that whistled loudly over the kids' heads. The children hid behind a mammoth piece of debris, cuddling up together in absolute horror, except for a disheveled boy in a threadbare white shirt and tattered trousers who stood alone at the playground, placing the ball on his right hip. He turned to his playmates, shouting at them to huddle together again. But they could not answer his calls; the answer, indeed, was another bullet that penetrated his head and laid him in a pool of blood. The gushing blood soaked the whites of his eyes even his face. His eyelashes stuck to their eyelids, and the dark pupils were sparkling. Blood emitted from his nose and mouth, running down to the white shirt, smearing it with purple spots. Having watched such an awful scene, the girls and boys scurried to their ramshackle houses, leaving the boy's sister with him. Her shrill screams and loud wails could shatter even the strewn stones and cause surrounding onlookers to cry their eyes out. The poor girl approached her dead brother, shook, hugged, and crazily called him, but how could a corpse reply? Warm blood went on oozing slowly from the boys' head. She sat beside him, and placed his blood-soaked head on her chest. Her skin got wet through her blood-stained dress. Her eyes shed ceaseless streams of hot tears, threading their way through the coagulated bloody face. All of a sudden, she relaxed the grip on her brother and breathed her last. Then a deadly silence hung over the area.
A Palestinian Boy's Tragedy
Behind the lofty gigantic Israeli Separation Wall, horrific scenes unfold every day. A completely demolished Palestinian house, located in a dreary district created an air of gloom and destruction. In front of the debris, a bunch of girls and boys, tousled and shabbily dressed, were passing their small football to each other with perfect childish innocence. Their bare feet made countless stamps on the soft dusty ground, showing their tiny footprints. The ball kept bouncing here and there and rolling along the area they allocated for playing. There were olive- trees, not far-away, large, shady, and swayed by gusty winds. Suddenly, the winds abated and the trees stood still, motionless, with their drooping black olives out of reach. A strange feeling encroached on my limbs and heart; the smell of death wafted across the area. From a well-concealed position, a Jewish sniper shot a bullet that whistled loudly over the kids' heads. The children hid behind a mammoth piece of debris, cuddling up together in absolute horror, except for a disheveled boy in a threadbare white shirt and tattered trousers who stood alone at the playground, placing the ball on his right hip. He turned to his playmates, shouting at them to huddle together again. But they could not answer his calls; the answer, indeed, was another bullet that penetrated his head and laid him in a pool of blood. The gushing blood soaked the whites of his eyes even his face. His eyelashes stuck to their eyelids, and the dark pupils were sparkling. Blood emitted from his nose and mouth, running down to the white shirt, smearing it with purple spots. Having watched such an awful scene, the girls and boys scurried to their ramshackle houses, leaving the boy's sister with him. Her shrill screams and loud wails could shatter even the strewn stones and cause surrounding onlookers to cry their eyes out. The poor girl approached her dead brother, shook, hugged, and crazily called him, but how could a corpse reply? Warm blood went on oozing slowly from the boys' head. She sat beside him, and placed his blood-soaked head on her chest. Her skin got wet through her blood-stained dress. Her eyes shed ceaseless streams of hot tears, threading their way through the coagulated bloody face. All of a sudden, she relaxed the grip on her brother and breathed her last. Then a deadly silence hung over the area.