In a land where logic twisted and turned
every moment, a lesson was learned,
a large blue caterpillar with arms folded high
turned to Alice and asked with a sigh:
‘Who are YOU?’, his voice was languid and slow,
Alice paused, for really, she didn’t quite know,
‘I—I hardly know, sir, just at present—it’s true.’
‘Explain yourself Alice, this simply won’t do’.
“I can’t ‘ she said, with a disheartened frown,
‘because I’m not myself, I’ve suddenly found.
At least I know who I was this morning it’s true
but since then I’ve changed, I’m someone quite new.’
The caterpillar nodded, deliberate and drawn,
‘you’ll get used to it in time’ he said with a yawn.
‘Who you are, after all, is not set in stone
in Wonderland Alice you’re never alone’.
Among bright flowers and cool fountains, she walked
in this land where march hares and mad hatters talked,
she heard the pattering of feet getting closer,
it was Handala with the world on his shoulders.
‘Who are YOU?’ said Alice, her voice gay and light,
he looked ashen and Alice was moved by his plight.
The little boy stood with hands clasped behind him,
barefoot and ragged with no one to mind him.
‘I’m Handala,’ came the voice, low and hollow,
‘I carry my grief through this valley of sorrow,
I hardly know who I am, at present, it’s true,
warfare has changed me, I’m someone quite new.
I watch, I wait, with hope in my heart,
for justice to come, for pain to depart.
Please help me Alice, I’m only just ten,
the noise fills my ears and the screams of old men
wake me at night and cause me to wonder
why the world lets them tear us asunder.
My feet are bleeding, and my heart is in tatters,
worst of all is that none of it matters.
My whole world is burning, my body is blistered,
they are killing us all, my brothers and sisters’.
Sometimes I despair and wish I was dead,
the tanks and the bombs go round in my head.
‘Please make it stop Alice, I’m only just ten,
I can’t take any more, I need this to end,
I’ll turn toward the qibla, an inviolable place
continue my sumud through knowledge in grace,
Yes, handhal grows strong, roots anchored deep
in my ancestral land where olive trees weep
in the fractured soil that strengthens her vines
and echoes the rhythm of her ancient rhyme.
In Wonderland, where fantasy thrives,
Alice felt pity for these very real lives.
‘Join me’ she said, ‘in this curious quest,
For here, even your burdens find rest’.
Handala nodded, a silent accord,
two paths converged, both hearts restored.
In that world of wonder, lessons unfurled
of resilience, hope, and a brighter world.
For even in places where fantasy reigns,
the fight for justice and peace remains,
and in their journey, a truth they’d impart,
the key to a just world starts in the heart.
• Handala is a character created by Palestinian newspaper cartoonist Naji al-Ali in 1969. The boy known as Handala is a symbol of the Palestinian struggle and resistance to occupation. Handala is forever 10 years old — the age that Ali was when his family was forced to move during the mass displacement of Palestinians in 1948 when the state of Israel was formed. Ali exclusively depicted Handala with his back turned, a gesture that transformed him into a silent witness of the horrors and outrages going on around him.
