Book cover artwork is by Martyna Sabadasz
By Jonathan Wonham
These five poems are extracts from the above book Diary of a Spice Seller by Mohammed Yasser Al-Batniji, to be published by Drizzle-Dazzle in December 2025. The book will retail for £10 with half this amount going to the author. Copies can be purchased by messaging: https://www.facebook.com/JonathanWonhamPoet .
Mohammed is now 17 years old and has spent the past two years besieged in Gaza with his family. I got to know Mohammed through Instagram messaging; Mohammed likes to chat and was as interested in my life as I was in his. So a friendship developed. Mohammed spent time telling me about his big ideas. He wanted assistance with all kinds of projects that he had in mind, and I agreed to help him with some of them by sending donations.
In time, he became interested in my writing (I have published two books of poetry about the Gaza genocide: Ceasefire Now! and Dystopia Persecutia) and particularly in the fact that I was selling my books to raise money for Palestinian charities. One day in April this year, he told me that he would like to write a book and asked me if I would make it for him and then sell it to raise money for his family. I agreed to this.
Mohammed’s book introduces a courageous young writer who approaches both life and writing with passion and creativity. In addition to a detailed historical account, it contains more than thirty poems that spring directly from his own experiences. Currently, he is exploring short story writing in order to continue expressing his feelings and thoughts about recent history.
The Gaza Sea
Tranquil, beautiful, people go there
to forget about life for a while.
Our one escape, one refuge
for hearts exhausted by the siege.
We plan to emigrate? We go to the sea.
We want a picnic? We go to the sea.
It is home when home is cramped,a
n embrace when compassion is scarce.
In war, the sea is everything:
we bathe, we wash our clothes and dishes,
we pitch tents on the damp shore
and wait by the waves for tomorrow.
But the gunboats come, hungry as sharks.
There’s the whine of a missile
and a man falls, his horse falls.
They lie there side by side on the shore.
The patrol boats start firing
as if we were committing a crime,
as if breathing was an accusation
and laughter forbidden.
Why is even the sea forbidden to us?
Why are our most basic rights
being stolen away from us?
Please help us World… Save Gaza!
Diary of a Spice Seller
It was during the displacement… I was sixteen.
My grandfather suggested I open a spice stall,
my own small project, a flavour of hope.
I started with a few small bags laid out on a desk…
And that’s how I began to meet new people.
I talked with them… and smiled at them.
My first job… I loved it very much.
Each morning – arranging, cleaning my place.
I watched the people, enjoyed the morning sun.
It was calm and beautiful to sit there.
At first profit was good – but then the crossing closed
and spices became scarce and expensive.
But I continued to sell at a cheap price –
I didn’t want to exploit anyone.
Even though the profit was small… I was satisfied.
But prices crept higher – our need for money increased.
I also had to raise my prices a little –
and then I found my customers didn’t like it…
Now, the quality of the spices was not good
and I couldn’t afford the prices any more…
So I had to close and say goodbye
to the flavour of hope, the people who smiled,
my first job… that I loved so much –
each morning, arranging spices, enjoying the sun.
I Live What He Sees
I sit by the window.
I see the moon, alone,
spreading light in a black night.
It resembles me.
It resembles my solitude.
It resembles my long silence.
I too live in darkness.
But I am an unseen light
surrounded by endless blackness.
We are alike.
But he is there, above.
He sees the destruction from afar
while I am here, beneath him.
I live what he sees.
I breathe the smoke
and I count the breaths
between two missiles.
My eyes roam the sky
and I say to myself: How long?
I slip into a brief dream
but a missile drops beside me
and tears the dream apart
as if a strange man had slapped me
then disappeared.
If You’ve Forgotten That, I Won’t
If you’ve forgotten that, I won’t.
I won’t forget the displacement.
I won’t forget the starvation.
I won’t forget the days I slept without food.
I won’t forget the day my relatives
and friends were killed before my eyes.
I won’t forget the past I lived.
I won’t forget many things…
How we were in pain,
hungry, and dying,
while others slept in luxury.
How we were homeless,
while others rested in their beds.
How we were without food,
while others ate whatever they wanted.
We asked for help!!
You dropped aid from the air.
Why?!
Are we dogs?
Are we without dignity?
I’m telling you, someone took it.
Why?
Because he hadn’t seen food for so long.
Because there were children
whose hunger needed to be quelled.
We were trying to live.
We endured what no one else could endure.
There was an eighty-year-old man
who would do anything for a simple meal.
Why? To feed his grandchildren
who have neither father nor mother.
There is a child running off to the food kitchen.
Why?
To satisfy the hunger of his little sisters.
There is a mother who walks for miles
just to sell a few small things.
Why?
Because her husband was martyred in the war.
Is there anyone who will answer us?
Is there anyone who will save us?
Unfortunately, the whole world watches
and decides to stay silent.
Are you afraid to speak?
You see children, women, and the elderly being killed every hour.
So why stay silent?
What will you state before God
on the Judgement Day?
The Occupation
They gather with their artillery and rifles to attack a miserable city exhausted by siege and hunger, a city in which nothing remains but the rubble of demolished homes and tattered tents where tired bodies, exhausted by fear and deprivation, seek refuge. They crowd together to fight for what remains of their exhausted breaths, their stolen childhoods and their dreams that were not destined for life.
Can this be the world that sings of justice and humanity? Damn this unjust world, damn everyone who remained silent, damn a humanity of which nothing remains but a hollow name!
But despite the wounds and the betrayal, we believe that we have a just Lord, who is our supporter and our comforter.
Blessed are you, O people of Gaza, for despite the smallness of your land, you are greater than this entire world.
