Ali Abu Shawar

Ali Abu Shawar, a beautiful child who had not yet completed his first year and would have celebrated it in just a few days, now lies in his grave. His mother, the 31-year-old journalist Salma Mukhaimer, had come with him to visit her family in Gaza a few days before the war, not knowing it would be her last visit. She was killed with her family in an Israeli airstrike on their home. Her body was buried under the rubble for days before she and her loved ones were moved to a common grave. Her husband remained in Kuwait, waiting for their return from that final visit. A dedication to the soul of the love of my heart, my life partner, a gift from God, who was a mother, a sister, and even a father to me—to Salma and Ali. Oh mother, my son is gone, it is done, my son is gone. For the first time, mother, something so big is breaking me. I didn't get to kiss him, mother, or hold him in my arms. By God, my son, my love, after you my heart is empty. Oh mother, my son is gone, it is done, my son is gone. He looked like his grandfather, it moved me. Like a flower he was, and losing him broke me. Mother, this precious one was all I had after God. From today on, I will miss the touch of your hand, my son, Ali. Everything is silent, even you, my son. You have broken my back in my old age. You said goodbye and left me in exile. For a better life, you sent me abroad. This is his mother, Salma, my heart, and with her is my son. Our dream was big, but Palestine took them from me. It is no loss in the eyes of God, the Lord of all creation. Oh mother, my son is gone, it is done, my son is gone. He was buried with her, in her embrace. By God, mother, that is the one thing that eases my pain a little. And I, mother, have buried them inside my heart. My son is gone, my son is gone. This is Salma, the love of my life. With her is my love, the grandson of Abu Ali. To God belongs what He gave, and to God belongs what He took. Praise be to God. I am thankful and patient, oh my Lord. My little son and his mother cannot sleep without me. Let them come, mother, and see how I am. Their separation, by God, has blinded me. My son is gone, it is done, my son is gone. In your absence, they ask me, 'How are you?' and I cried. My imagination and I, in their separation, by God, I am bent. And for them, by the Lord of the universe, I yearn. Salma said goodbye and sent me away. And in her separation, she exhausted me and pained me, she aged me and gave me white hair, and by God, she also broke me. May my Lord have mercy on you, and after you, grant me patience. May God make it easy for you, my life and my moon.