I dream the smell of bread from bakeries,
bread baked from flour not lentils or beans,
bread baked from flour without bugs you can see,
bread more than once every other day.
I dream I am riding my bicycle
on streets not blocked by piles of rubble,
past markets filled with food and people,
shouts and laughter rising like bubbles.
I dream walking into our un-bombed school
greeted by our teachers’ smiles,
books we read till we used them for fuel,
photos of school friends on Martyrs’ walls.
I dream grandpa’s olive trees’ outstretched arms
until the settlers cut them down,
hugs from uncles, aunts and cousins
before soldiers with machineguns shot them.
I dream dolls without missing arms and legs,
bags of toys not evacuation bags,
our pets now roaming with wild dogs,
my red coat we tore up for bandages.
I dream windows wide open to breathe fresh air,
to sleep, wake, walk, run, leap without fear,
to dance in the sun, to live in the light─
this is what I dream of every night.