Trapped in Time

Time (1)

Eyes half open,

Heart entirely closed;

The world seems beautiful:

Now, I can’t get hurt.

The waves I hear talking;

The powder I smell rising;

The sun keeps falling;

The breeze cuddling my hair,

I can hear

With closed ears:

The screams of the body,

Some whispers overwhelming

Coming from beyond the sea.

A melody being played,

A Combat going;


I am defeated.

I can hardly breathe;

Echoes hovering,

My brain is lost in remembering,

I take a short breath,

The air is running,

Already, I am dead.

But the humming never stops;

I keep on losing my spots;

I dazzle and gaze,

And become out of space.

The past is taking over;

The past blinds my vision;

I can hardly see.

My eyes are entirely shut,

My heart half open,

Doors, Windows, Fragrant, walks, talks

All comes back,

Breaks the moment.

Nothing is before me;

I am lost in search.

Looking through what’s behind:

My eyes are sightless,

My heart is open,

My insight is abruptly frozen,

I have no future.

I am lost in remembering,

Weary mind,

Troublesome body,

I can’t keep dying

Everyday morning,

I need to do something,

Stop this from going,

Seal the heart,


Open my eyes

To see clearly.

I am half way going,

Almost there;

I have no way back;

I have no way at all

Save the one ahead,

Save the one before me;

The one I must take.


A Teacher is Born Not Made

I am an English literature student at the Islamic University of Gaza. How can the title be about teaching and I am studying literature? Well. Ever since I was a little girl, I used to pretend that I am teaching couches and chairs. I used to waste my time pretending teaching a couch a piece of information, I understand, just because I have different ways of describing and thinking about it. I wasn’t very good at school subjects. I was that kind of girls who hated attending classes; all classes but three: religion, English and French. Teachers didn’t like me either; they didn’t pay much attention to me; all but the previous mentioned exceptions’ teachers. I started watching English TV shows and movies when I was around 6 or maybe 7 – as far as I remember. I would watch TV all day long without moving and if I have an exam, I would study during the commercials. I started writing English poetry in the sixth grade. I started writing silly things; however with time, I became better. When I was a kid, I used to think, dream and pray, in moments of solitude, in English. When I grew older, I stopped the last one thinking it is better to pray to Allah in Arabic. I was always ahead in thinking. Poetry plants wisdom in those who truly love it. I was one of those few lucky people. I don’t know whether it is fortunate or hapless that I became mature when I was around 9 years old. It is interesting what Movies can do to you; and I surely have watched millions of them. Through my time at school, I used to explain things to my classmates; things related to English or French – that used to be a hobby. I still enjoy teaching others. I still enjoy dedicating my time just to explain things to other. In tawjehe – last year at high school, I got a good average that enabled me to go to any school I want, anything but medical school – not that I have ever wanted to be a doctor. I decided to try something new; I went for engineering. I enjoyed it and got a good average for a first semester. But it never felt my thing. I would go home and cry. I would hear how my friends had fun stuff and all I had was numbers. After 20 days of the beginning of the second semester, I couldn’t but leave. I had to chase down that true dream I had. And I did. I got into the literature department. Every day, I would go home and tell my mother a real interesting story about my day at the university; something I really lacked when I was studying engineering. I used to enjoy my classes. I used to feel hypnotized and enthusiastic. I would run to the library or run to classes. I hated breaks. I just wanted to study English. The real beautiful part is my second semester. All of my subjects were English no university or department requirements. I learned so many things. I would feel every word rather than read or understand. It felt home. It felt right where I belong. Just as a poet isn’t made but born, I believe that teachers are born not made. That long speech about my journey was to let you know that it needs passion to become a teacher; it needs to make you feel home. Teachers are responsible for the education of generations. They have a message they need to convey. A teacher has to have flame in their eyes not just information in their heads. If you want to be a teacher, make sure you are ready for such a scary important task. In your hands lies the destiny of a lot of students. You either make them want to come every day to school, like you feel, or you make them abhor hearing the word school, like you do. Teaching isn’t a profession. Teaching is a hobby, a belief and a message that you need to perfectly convey. A teacher isn’t made or given a certificate to become one; they are born. And just like there is a versifier and a poet, there is a teacher and a counterfeit product.