I dwell in corners where shadows rest long,
Not in fear, but in spaces I now belong,
Where the heart spills quiet no words could hold,
And night becomes my story told.
I’m not the cry beneath the shell,
But the breath that rises when echoes fell—
A softer ache, a quieter storm,
Still aching, but slowly warm.
No hands reached in that darkest place,
Yet in the hush, I found some grace.
Each step alone, each step unsure,
Yet still I moved, though far from sure.
The world was loud, it pushed and pulled,
But silence taught me to be still—
To let the grief sit by my side,
Not buried deep, nor forced to hide.
So here I sit, with broken things,
Not mended yet—but soft with wings.
In quiet spaces, I begin,
To breathe again beneath my skin.
This isn’t peace, not quite relief,
But something lives beneath the grief.
A flicker faint, but still it stays—
And that, for now, will be my praise.
Taqwa Ahmed Al-Wawi
Taqwa Ahmed Al-Wawi, is a writer and poet from Gaza, Palestine. She is a 19-year-old student of English literature at the Islamic University of Gaza. Through her words, she strives to amplify Gaza’s voice and shed light on stories that are often left untold.
In addition to contributing to We Are Not Numbers (WANN), her work has appeared in prominent outlets including The Electronic Intifada, Mondoweiss, The Washington Report on Middle East Affairs, The Palestine Chronicle, The Markaz Review, Middle East Monitor, Al Jazeera English, Middle East Eye, The Massachusetts Review, the Institute for Palestine Studies, Prism, the New Arab, The Intercept, Politics Today, and Truthout. Her poetry has also been published by Baladi Magazine and Opol.
Cover Photo by Emad El Byed on Unsplash
