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A Story Untold

5 April 2024

My name is Anabelle Wilson.  I am sixteen years old. I live in the state of Maryland in the United States of America. I wrote this poem, A Story Untold, for the people of Gaza, and I hoped that it would help people understand the horrific atrocities unfolding there in ways that normal conversations could not.  
I wrote it after watching a livestream on Instagram by a Palestinian journalist.  He and some other journalists were on the roof of a hospital—the only place where they could access any kind of internet.  As the night went on, more and more threats arose—a sniper, a quadcopter, the bombs that filled the air, the sound of the tanks approaching…
That night I stayed up late, terrified that they would all be dead the next morning.  It was the biggest glimpse I’d ever gotten into what they experienced every single night, and how it just kept getting worse and worse.  In my desperation, I started writing this poem. I just could not believe that so many people could be ignoring or even cheering this on.  
Why? Why would anyone ever wish this upon the Palestinian people, or any people?  How could they willfully avert their gaze?   Because of the land the Palestians live on? Because of how they look?  Because of their faith?  
My faith in humanity was dwindling fast. Thankfully, the amazing journalists on the roof of that hospital lived. They lived to experience virtually the same exact thing the next night, and the next, and they continued to livestream until they no longer had enough internet service to do so.  They are still alive, still struggling to survive, but over 32,000 Palestinians have been killed.  
Since I’ve written this poem, I have met so very many incredible people who are standing up for Palestine in the United States of America.  I am so inspired by them, and inspired by the people of Palestine. I’ve come to the conclusion that some people truly are ignorant and I am hopeful that their eyes will be opened to the truth of what is happening, but that I can’t change everyone.  
Somehow, some people really can look at what is happening and not bat an eye.  But I have learned that I can change and better myself and stand resolved in my belief that everyone should have the rights that my country claims to stand for.  
We can’t bring forth someone else’s humanity for them.  We can only bring forth our own.  
Here is my poem.  Free Palestine!

A Story Untold 
by Anabelle Wilson
Imagine a night
with so dark a plight
you cannot rest, sleep or dream
because your dreams are just nightmares
imagine a time
when you’ve committed no crime
but the bombs that light the sky
come to steal your precious breath away
imagine a sound
that makes your ears pound
with each shot like a jarring drumroll
cutting short stories barely begun
imagine a song
most mournfully sung
with the last sweet sparks of hope
a defiance to the bullets of despair
imagine a fear
ringing in each ear
of bodies of loved ones lost under rubble
gone with your memories of happier days
imagine a tank
the cruor so rank
as they charge over children, mere bumps in their paths
one tank times a hundred with no soul, just a gunman
imagine a hope
so soft in its’ scope
so light ’twill be smite by the incoming might
a hope for remembrance of all that has come
and a hope to go home   oh how the tears run
now imagine you’re not imagining
and this hell is happening
to you        
ask yourself what you would do
or close your soul’s doors
when you will hear no more
ignorance is bliss but it comes with a toll
one only felt by the depths of your soul
which knows of that night
and aches at the thought

of that true story untold