Simin Pourmahmoud
From the series “I write to be the voice of Gaza”
"I wish I had died before this and become a forgotten thing, beyond recall.”
These were the words of Mary, spoken when pain writhed beneath her skin, through every bone, stretching and straining her very being. When the thoughts and whispers of people passed through her mind and pierced her heart. When she wished no one would know of her condition. When she had no refuge and dragged herself, as far as her strength allowed, into a solitary corner.
Mary’s pain was sacred. She knew that after this suffering, her eyes would behold a child from the lineage of prophets. A child who, even in the cradle, would speak with the wisdom of the aged. A child whose hands would overflow with miracles. Yet the pain had cut so deeply into the mature, seasoned Maryam that, behind her clenched lips, she whispered: "I wish I had died before this and become a forgotten thing, beyond recall." (Quran, 19:23)
I do not know why I compared the boy lying on the ground to Mary. Beyond the pain that sears his very marrow and the wail trapped behind his lips, I found no other resemblance. The boy…no, I want to give him a name, to etch him into the folds of my memory: Sabir (The Patient One).
Bloodied and dust-covered, he presses his lips between his teeth. His jaw aches from grinding so fiercely. Even his tears are restrained, unwilling to flow. Yet it was neither his wounded leg, nor the shaking of his small frame, nor the flies circling him like vultures, nor the dry and moldy bread before him, nor the filth, nor the terrifying darkness, nor the roar of fighter jets, nor the collapsed bricks— nothing else drew my attention. It was only his clenched lips and the faint groan escaping them that drew my mind to Mary’s stifled wail and her wish for death.
Sabir is still so young, yet, like Mary, he is mature and seasoned. He knows that to reach his purpose, he must endure pain, suppress the cry, command the tears to not fall, and even entertain the wish for death in his heart. But he cannot abandon patience.
Sabir, too, is a prophet. From the midst of ruins, with teeth biting into lips, without uttering a word, he delivers his message to the world. Sabir’s eyes, like Maryam’s, will shine upon blessing, dignity, and honor. The springs of his land will gush forth. The scorched and withered trunks of their palm groves will yield fresh, ripe dates. "Eat, drink, and be comforted."(Holy Quran, Surah Maryam: Verse 26), this too will be revealed for the patient ones of Gaza.
