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Noor Hindi’s Followers (7)
Noor Hindi
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Heaven Looks Like Us: Palestinian Poetry
by
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published
2025
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3 editions
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Queerș pentru Palestina. Luări de poziție, eseuri și poeme
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Poemas de y por Palestina
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Si dius Gaza: Nova poesia palestina
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Papercuts
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published
2011
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3 editions
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Poet Lore Summer/Fall 2023
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“Colonizers write about flowers.
I tell you about children throwing rocks at Israeli tanks
seconds before becoming daisies.
I want to be like those poets who care about the moon.
Palestinians don’t see the moon from jail cells and prisons.
It’s so beautiful, the moon.
They’re so beautiful, the flowers.
I pick flowers for my dead father when I’m sad.
He watches Al Jazeera all day.
I wish Jessica would stop texting me Happy Ramadan.
I know I’m American because when I walk into a room something dies.
Metaphors about death are for poets who think ghosts care about sound.
When I die, I promise to haunt you forever.
One day, I’ll write about the flowers like we own them.”
―
I tell you about children throwing rocks at Israeli tanks
seconds before becoming daisies.
I want to be like those poets who care about the moon.
Palestinians don’t see the moon from jail cells and prisons.
It’s so beautiful, the moon.
They’re so beautiful, the flowers.
I pick flowers for my dead father when I’m sad.
He watches Al Jazeera all day.
I wish Jessica would stop texting me Happy Ramadan.
I know I’m American because when I walk into a room something dies.
Metaphors about death are for poets who think ghosts care about sound.
When I die, I promise to haunt you forever.
One day, I’ll write about the flowers like we own them.”
―
“Yes. There is a woman crying
at terminal six. Yes, I use a newspaper
to cover my eyes. Yes, I think of the child.
The tiny silver heart she placed in my palm.
How I threw it in the trash, seconds later.
But I promise. I promise. I promise. I—
meant it as an act of survival. Maybe love.”
―
at terminal six. Yes, I use a newspaper
to cover my eyes. Yes, I think of the child.
The tiny silver heart she placed in my palm.
How I threw it in the trash, seconds later.
But I promise. I promise. I promise. I—
meant it as an act of survival. Maybe love.”
―
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