I wish I could save you like I wish I could have saved myself
He’s big, and he’s strong
Everyone knows he is more powerful than you
A man after all, w ente ba3dik bent zgheere
You never stood a chance against the shadows he casts,
his looming presence suffocates you,
a weight that crushes your bones like the rubble of fallen homes
You can try to defend yourself, but it only fuels his rage,
and God forbid you anger the beast
he’ll twist your resistance into a noose, tightening it around your throat until it chokes you and leaves you gasping for breath
Mother, I wish I could save you, like I wish I could have saved myself
You’re trying to pick yourself back up, a warrior
Fighting a physical, mental, psychological war
But the scars from shattered glass and the sounds of explosions have become familiar,
you see them you hear them you feel them so you must be alive,
each one a grotesque badge of survival,
Until they start to feel like home
And you keep telling yourself,
Is not real,
Is not real,
Is not real
Sometimes, I wonder what binds me to you,
why I see so much of myself in your dreams and your pain
You are me, and I am you
I wish I could save you, like I wish I could have saved myself
You kneel before him like a child, not from fear,
but from the exhaustion of standing tall, you two have a long-standing history
Connected by blood, until blood runs thin
And the world around you insists you be quiet, silence dear child
it is all in your head and it doesn’t matter, you are here now and you are safe
They tell you to pretend you see nothing, hear nothing, smell nothing,
or risk deportation, isolation
No one can hear you, “It is not my fault he is angry, it is not my fault he is vengeful,”
and I assure you it is not
You are but a pawn in a fight that is much bigger than you
You’re still trapped beneath the rubble,
his favorite pastime, carpet bombing your spirit,
flattening you until you’re nothing but dust and broken dreams
He doesn’t stop there;
He mows the lawn, erasing every trace of life within you,
He sees the olive trees and the shy, hidden apples,
each one yearning to reach for the sun,
yet he shows no mercy for their fragile hopes,
obliterating the crops that long to thrive
leaving behind only corpses where life once promised to bloom
and it’s all because he can
you start to pray,
Is not real,
Is not real,
Is not real
There wasn’t much I could do then,
and there isn’t much I can do now. I’m so sorry, ya emme.
You face a monster, a nightmare that won’t relent.
He whispers lies, and you start to believe them.
“You’re at fault for resisting. How dare you resist, child?”
He threatens to chop off your tongue, feed it to you,
maybe then you’ll learn the lesson—
and I hate that I’m speaking the enemy’s tongue
I long to speak in my mother tongue,
to reclaim our voice
I wish I could save you, like I wish I could have saved myself
Me and you, we are connected,
like I’m still in your womb, Mother.
I don’t want to cut the umbilical cord,
because who am I if not for you?
I don’t want to find out,
even if it breaks me
We will defeat this evil
Never have I seen hell until I looked deep into his eyes,
flaming hell on earth,
and that’s how I know that Allah exists within you and me, ya emme
I know you’re leaving your home,
forcefully displaced by a stranger with no claim over you,
no claim over your body
He’ll tell you this is discipline,
a lesson in submission
But I find solace knowing that I stood up,
and one day, so will you.
Author’s note: As of September 24, 2024, Israel has killed more than 500 people in Lebanon in less than 48 hours. Thousands have been forcibly displaced, with hospitals, roads, and homes being indiscriminately targeted—all in the name of self-defense against Hezbollah. As a Lebanese expat living abroad, I feel equally helpless and enraged.
This poem seeks to capture that parallel, evoking the feelings of entrapment and helplessness often associated with domestic abuse. The dual narrative of external war and internal conflict aims to capture not just the physical destruction caused by conflict happening in the motherland, but also the emotional and psychological scars left by violence, whether from a partner or an oppressor. It aims to add layers to the exploration of trauma, resilience and identity.
If you are a victim of domestic abuse, or know someone who is, please contact KAFA (enough), a Lebanese civil, non-governmental organization. Hotline: +961 3 018019. If you need a friend, or someone to listen, you are not alone; I am here for you.