I question Ammi in Gaza, where do we belong?

AGNA, India

I question Ammi in Gaza, where do we belong?

as she asks me to pack my whole life in three things
1 Passport - for an identification I never had
2 Wallet - to stand, eat, breathe
3 A photo album - to remember all of them if/ when we separate. Prior, we collected stones for M1921
now, we run, sheltering–
in disillusioned basements, like flowers in the attic, witnessing our turf embracing
the missiles
turning cotton pink sky into coffee powder, our minds quiver, shrieking–
where do we belong? To a place that banned our headscarves or nationality that was never mine
or a place I have to lower my head to be invisible or a place where they perform nakba
and evict us and arrest us, if we are lucky.
We are not humans, just bones and skulls to be stamped on, whilst they
gargle out our red metallic liquid, little charms of being us.
Because we are refugees, thugs, immigrants, terrorists
anything but citizens/humans.
Where does that take us? What does home mean? Where is it?
Or maybe, we were meant just for the heavens.

AGNA is an Indian Muslim who likes to read, gaze at nature in awe and watch Christmas movies for inspiration and an escape from reality. She has been published in a few magazines and anthologies including the Viraj Record Holder. You can find her lounging on her Instagram page @chambersofthaughts.