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سارة … جواب الماء

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8 ans ago

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ﻛﻠﻤﺎ ﺭﺍﻗﺼﺘﻨﻲ ﺍﻟﺬﺍﻛﺮﺓ

،ﻋﻠﻰ ﻭﺗﺮ ﻃﻔﻮﻟﺔ ﻋﺮﺟﺎء

ﺃﺻﺮﺥ ﺑﻼ ﺻﻮﺕ

،ﺑﻼ ﺣﺮﻛﺔ

ﻟﻌﻞ ﺍﻟﺴﻼﻡ ﻳﻮﻟﺪ ﻣﻦ ﺣﻨﺠﺮﺓ

أﺗﻌﺒﻬﺎ ﺍﻟﺼﻤﺖ

،ﻻ ﺗﻌﻄﻮﻧﻲ ﻋﻄﺮﺍ ﺛﻤﻴﻨﺎ

.ﻭﻻ ﻧﻘﻮﺩﺍ

،ﻻ ﺗﻌﻄﻮﻧﻲ ﻣﻨﺰﻻ ﻓﺎﺧﺮﺍ

.ﻣﺰﻳﻨﺎ ﺑﺤﺒﺎﺕ ﻛﺮﻳﺴﺘﺎﻝ ﻓﺮﻳﺪﺓ

،ﻭ ﻻ ﺗﻌﻄﻮﻧﻲ ﻟﻴﻼ ﻭﺭﺩﻳﺎ

.ﻣﻐﻠﻔﺎ ﺑﺎﻟﻜﺬﺏ ﻭﺍﻟﺪﻧﺎﺳﺔ

،ﺃﻋﻄﻮﻧﻲ ﺭﻏﻴﻒ ﺧﺒﺰ

..ﻗﻄﻌﺔ ﻗﻤﺎﺵ

.ﻭ ﻣﺄﻭﻯ

.ﺃﻋﻴﺪﻭﺍ ﺇﻟﻲ ﺃﻣﻲ

ﺃﻣﻲ ﺍﻟﺘﻲ ﻫﺎﺟﺮﺕ ﺇﻟﻰ ﺍﻟﺴﻤﺎء

.ﺫﺍﺕ ﻣﺮﺽ

ﺃﻋﻴﺪﻭﺍ ﺇﻟﻲ ﺃﺑﻲ ﺍﻟﺬﻱ ﺃﺻﺎﺑﺘﻪ

ﺭﺻﺎﺻﺔ

ﺃﻋﻴﺪﻭﺍ ﻟﻲ ﻃﻔﻮﻟﺔ ، ﺗﺤﺘﻀﺮ ﻋﻠﻰ

.ﺍﻟﺮﺻﻴﻒ

ﺃﻋﻄﻮﻧﻲ ﻛﻤﻨﺠﺘﻲ ﺍﻟﺘﻲ ﻧﺴﻴﺘﻬﺎ ﻓﻲ

ﻣﻨﺘﺼﻒ ﺍﻟﺤﻠﻢ

.ﻭﺃﻧﺎ ﻫﺎﺭﺑﺔ ﻣﻦ ﺍﻟﺸﻴﻄﺎﻥ

ﺃﻋﻄﻮﻧﻲ ﻣﺴﺒﺤﺔ ﺟﺪﺗﻲ ﺍﻟﺘﻲ

،ﺍﻧﻔﺮﻃﺖ ﻋﻠﻰ ﺳﺠﺎﺩ

… ﻭﻫﻲ ﺗﺼﻠﻲ، ﻷﺟﻠﻲ

ﺃﻋﻴﺪﻭﺍ ﺇﻟﻲ ﺍﺑﺘﺴﺎﻣﺔ ﺿﻴﻌﺘﻬﺎ

ﻓﻲ ﺍﻟﺤﺮﺏ ﺩﻭﻥ

.ﻗﺼﺪ

…ﺃﻋﻴﺪﻭﺍ ﺇﻟﻲ ﺍﻟﻄﻔﻞ ﺍﻟﺬﻱ ﻣﺎﺕ

.ﻭﻟﻢ ﻳﻤﺖ

ﺃﻋﻴﺪﻭﺍ.. ﺧﺮﺑﺸﺎﺗﻲ ﺍﻟﺘﻲ ﺗﺮﻛﺘﻬﺎ

،ﻋﻠﻰ ﻃﺎﻭﻟﺔ ﺍﻟﻤﺪﺭﺳﺔ

ﻗﻄﻌﺔ ﺍﻟﺤﻠﻮﻯ ﺍﻟﺘﻲ ﺳﺮﻗﺘﻬﺎ ﻣﻦ

ﺃﺧﻲ

ﻭ ﺣﺬﺍﺋﻲ ﺍﻟﺠﺪﻳﺪ ﺍﻟﺬﻱ ﺟﺮﻓﻪ

.ﺍﻟﻨﻬﺮ

…ﻭ ﺣﻴﻦ ﺃﻣﻮﺕ

،ﻻ ﺗﻌﻄﻮﻧﻲ ﻗﺒﺮﺍ ﻣﻦ ﺭﺧﺎﻡ

. ﻭ ﻣﻨﻘﻮﺷﺎ، ﺑﺮﺳﻮﻡ ﻭ ﺁﻳﺎﺕ

.ﺍﺗﺮﻛﻮﺍ ﻗﺒﺮﻱ ﺗﺮﺍﺑﺎ

ﺍﺯﺭﻋﻮﺍ ﻣﺎ ﺃﻣﻜﻦ ﻣﻦ ﺃﺯﻫﺎﺭ

.ﻭ ﻣﺎ ﺃﻣﻜﻦ ﻣﻦ ﺣﺐ ﻭ ﺷﻌﺮ

ﻭ ﻻ ﺗﻨﺴﻮﺍ ﺃﻥ ﺗﺪﻓﻨﻮﺍ ﻣﺎ ﺗﺒﻘﻰ

ﻣﻦ ﺍﻟﻄﻔﻮﻟﺔ

،ﺍﻟﻜﻤﻨﺠﺔ..

،ﺍﻟﻤﺴﺒﺤﺔ

،ﺍﻟﺨﺮﺑﺸﺎﺕ

..ﺭﺍﺋﺤﺔ ﺃﻣﻲ، ﻭﺩﻋﺎء ﺟﺪﺗﻲ…

،ﺣﻴﻦ ﺃﻣﻮﺕ

ﺍﺩﻓﻨﻮﻧﻲ ﻋﺎﺭﻳﺔ ﺑﻼ ﻗﻤﺎﺵ

ﺩﻋﻮﺍ ﻟﻠﻨﻤﻞ ﻭ ﺍﻟﻌﻨﺎﻛﺐ ﻣﺎ ﺗﺒﻘﻰ..

.ﻣﻦ ﺟﺴﺪﻱ

ﺣﻴﻦ ﺃﻣﻮﺕ ﺍﺩﻓﻨﻮﻧﻲ ﺑﻼ ﻗﺒﺮ ﻭ

،ﺑﻼ ﻃﻔﻮﻟﺔ

… ﺣﻴﻦ ﺃﻣﻮﺕ

ﺭﺗﻠﻮﺍ ﻋﻠﻰ ﻗﺒﺮﻱ ﺇﺟﺎﺑﺔ

ﻧﻨﻘﻠﻬﺎ إلى ﺍﻟﻠﻪ إذا ﺳﺄﻟﻨﺎ ﻋﻦ ﺯﺧﺎﻡ

ﺍﻟﻮﻃﻦ

…ﻭﻋﻦ ﺣﺮﺑﻪ

…ﻓﺤﻴﻨﻬﺎ

ﺳﻴﺴﺄﻟﻨﺎ ﺍﻟﻠﻪ ﻋﻦ ﺳﻔﻚ ﺍﻟﺪﻣﺎء.

ﻋﻦ ﺍﻟﺤﺮﺏ ﻭﺍﻟﺨﺮﺍﺏ…ﻋﻦ ﺍﻟﻈﻠﻢ

..ﻭﺍﻟﻈﻼﻡ

ﻋﻦ ﺻﺒﺎﺑﺔ ﺍﻟﻌﺎﺷﻘﻴﻦ ﻭﻋﻄﺶ

..ﺍﻟﻤﺎء

ﺳﻴﺴﺄﻟﻨﺎ ﻋﻦ ﻗﺼﻴﺪ ﺗﺎﺋﻪ ﻓﻲ ﺛﻐﺮ

!ﺍﻟﺠﺮﻳﻤﺔ

ﻭﻋﻦ ﻃﻔﻞ ﻻﺯﺍﻝ ﻳﻨﺎﻡ ﻋﻠﻰ ﺷﺎﻃﺊ

…ﺍﻟﻤﻮﺕ ﻭﻟﻢ ﻳﻤﺖ

ﺳﻴﺴﺄﻟﻨﺎ ﻋﻦ ﺃﻡ ﺗﺮﺑﻲ ﺣﺒﺎﺕ

ﺍﻟﻤﻄﺮ

…ﺑﻴﻦ ﺃﻇﺎﻓﺮﻫﺎ

ﻭﻋﻦ ﺧﻨﺴﺎء ﺃﺳﺪﻟﺖ ﺳﺘﺎﺭ ﺍﻟﻠﻴﻞ

..ﻭﺃﺧﺎﻃﺘﻪ ﻓﻲ ﺛﻘﺐ ﻋﻴﻨﻬﺎ

ﺳﻴﺴﺄﻟﻨﺎ ﻋﻦ ﺭﺍﻗﺼﺔ ﻓﻲ ﺍﻟﻤﻠﻬﻰ

ﺗﺮﻛﺖ

ﺭﺃﺳﻬﺎ ﻣﺼﻠﻮﺑﺎ ﻓﻲ ﺁﺧﺮ ﺭﻗﺼﺔ

ﻟﻠﺴﺨﺮﻳﺔ

ﺳﻴﺴﺄﻟﻨﺎ ﻋﻦ ﺭﺳﺎﻡ ﻟﻢ ﺗﺒﻊ ﻟﻮﺣﺘﻪ

…

ﻭﻋﻦ ﺷﺎﻋﺮ ﻓﻘﺪ ﻣﺠﺎﺯﻩ

ﺳﻴﺴﺄﻟﻨﺎ ﻋﻦ ﺳﺎﺭﺓ

ﺳﺎﺭﺓ ﺍﻟﺘﻲ ﺍﺟﺘﺎﺑﻬﺎ ﺍﻟﺤﻴﻦ

ﻭﺩﻧﺎ ﺍﻟﻤﻮﺕ ﻣﻦ دمائها

..ﻭﺣﺎﻥ

ﺳﻴﺴﺄﻟﻨﺎ ﻋﻦ ﺳﺎﺭﺓ

ﺍﻟﺘﻲ ﺗﺜﻨﺖ ﻛﺎﻟﻐﻴﺪﺍء

ﺗﺤﺮﺭ ﺍﻟﺮﺻﺎﺹ ﻣﻦ ﺻﻼﺑﺘﻪ

ﻭﺗﺠﻌﻞ ﻣﻦ ﺍﻻﺭﺽ ﻟﺤﺪﺍ ﻟﺠﻴﺪﻫﺎ

ﺳﻴﺴﺄﻟﻨﺎ ﻋﻦ ﺟﻮﻧﺔ ﺍﻟﺴﻨﻮﺍﺕ

ﺍﻟﺴﺒﻊ

..ﺳﺎﺭﺓ

ﺳﺎﺭﺓ ﺍﻟﺘﻲ ﻳﻨﺎﻓﺤﻬﺎ ﺍﻟﺼﺒﺎﺡ ﺍﺫﺍ

ﺍﺗﺴﻖ

ﻭﻳﺒﺎﺭﻳﻬﺎ ﺍﻟﻘﻤﺮ إذا ﺍﻛﺘﻤﻞ

ﺳﺎﺭﺓ ﺍﻟﺘﻲ ﻟﻢ ﺗﻘﻔﻞ ﻋﻘﺪﻫﺎ ﺑﻌﺪ

ﺳﺎﺭﺓ..ﺭﺍﺋﺤﺔ ﺍﻷﻗﺎﺣﻲ إذا ﺟﻤﻌﺖ

ﻭﺿﺮﺏ ﻣﺎء ﻧﻀﺎﺭ ﺍﺫﺍ ﺍﻧﻬﻤﺮ

سارة..جواب الماء

ﺳﺎﺭﺓ..ﻟﻮﻥ ﺍﻟﺤﻠﻢ

ﻭﻣﻨﻰ ﺍﻟﺤﺎﻟﻢ ﻗﺒﻞ ﺃﻥ ﺗﺄﻛﻞ ﺟﻨﺎﺣﻪ

ﺳﺎﺭﺓ ﺿﺮﺏ ﺧﻤﺎﺋﻞ إذا ﺗﺜﺎءبت

ﻭﺫﺭﺍﺑﺔ ﺍﻟﻘﺪﺭ إذا ﻣﺎ أذنب

سيسألنا الله عن سارة ألف سؤال

سيقول لنا :

ﻣﺎﺫﺍ ﻓﻌﻠﺘﻢ ﺑﻄﻴﻮﺭ ﺍﻷﺭﺽ؟

ﻭﻛﻴﻒ ﺍﻏﺘﺼﺒﺘﻢ ﺁﺧﺮ ﺯﻫﺮﺓ

ﻣﺘﺸﺒﺜﺔ ﺑﺘﺮﺑﺘﻬﺎ

ﻣﺎﺫﺍ ﻓﻌﻠﺘﻢ ﺑﻠﻘﻴﻂ ﻧﺴﻴﺘﻪ ﺃﻣﻪ ﻋﻠﻰ

ﺷﺮﻓﺔ ﺍﻟﻴﺘﻢ

ﻛﻴﻒ ﺷﻜﻠﺘﻢ ﺍﻟﻄﻴﻦ ﻣﻦ ﺑﻌﺪﻱ؟

ﻛﻴﻒ ﺗﻤﺎﺩﻳﺘﻢ ﻓﻲ ﺍﻟﻘﺘﻞ ﻭ ﺃﻧﺘﻢ

ﻓﺘﺎﺕ ﺍﻟﺘﺮﺍﺏ ﻭﺃﺻﻠﻪ؟

ﻭﻣﻦ ﺃﻋﻄﻰ ﻋﻘﺎﺭﺏ ﺍﻟﺴﺎﻋﺔ ﻟﻐﻮﻝ

ﻫﺠﻴﻦ؟

ﻳﻮﻣﻬﺎ ﻓﻘﻂ ﺳﺘﻜﺜﺮ ﺍﻷﺳﺌﻠﺔ

ﺳﻴﺨﺘﺒﺊ ﺍﻟﺠﻮﺍﺏ ﻓﻲ ﺛﻐﺮ ﺫﺋﺐ

ﺧﺎﺋﻒ

ﺻﻤﺖ ..ﺳﺆﺍﻝ ..ﺳﺆﺍﻝ ﻓﺴﺆﺍﻝ

ﻛﻞ ﺍﻟﻮﺟﻮﻩ ﺳﻴﺤﺠﺒﻬﺎ ﻏﺒﺎﺭ ﺍﻷﺯﻣﻨﺔ

ﻳﻮﻣﻬﺎ ﺳﺘﺮﺣﻞ ﺍﻟﺬﺍﻛﺮﺓ

ﺳﻴﻄﻮﻝ ﺍﻟﺼﻤﺖ ﻓﺘﻄﻮﻝ

ﺍﻟﺴﺎﻋﺎﺕ

ﺳﺘﺮﺗﺐ ﺣﺮﻭﻓﻬﺎ ﻛﻤﺤﺎﻭﻟﺔ

ﻭﻣﻦ ﻏﻴﺮ ﺍﻟﻠﻪ ﻳﺪﺭﻙ ﻣﺬﺍﻕ

ﺍﻟﻜﺬﺏ

ﻓﻲ ﺍﻷﻓﻮﺍﻩ ﺍﻟﻤﻐﻠﻘﺔ؟

ﻭﻣﻦ ﻏﻴﺮﻩ ﻳﺮﺗﺐ ﺍﻟﻮﻗﺖ ﻭﻳﺤﺎﻛﻢ

ﺍﻟﺤﺮﺏ

ﻳﻮﻣﻬﺎ ..ﻻ ﺃﺣﺪ ﺳﻴﺘﻘﻦ ﺍلإﺟﺎﺑﺔ

ﻭﻻ ﺃﺣﺪ ﺳﻴﺒﻘﻰ ﻓﻲ ﺍﻟﻤﻜﺎﻥ ﻛﻲ

ﻳﺴﺄﻝ

ﺛﺎﻧﻴﺔ ﺃﻭ ﻳﺠﻴﺐ

ﻭﺣﻴﻨﻬﺎ ﺍﺩﻓﻨﻮﻧﻲ ﺑﻼ ﻗﺒﺮ

ﺑﻼ ﻃﻔﻮﻟﺔ

ﺑﻼ ﺟﻮﺍﺏ

ﻓﻬﺬﺍ ﺍﻟﻮﻃﻦ

ﻻ ﻳﻜﻔﻲ ﻟﻠﻤﻠﺢ ﺍﻟﻨﺎﺋﻢ ﻓﻲ ﻣﺂﻗﻴﻨﺎ

ﻭﻫﺬﺍ ﺍﻟﻘﺒﺮ

ﻟﻦ ﻳﺘﺴﻊ ﻟﺤﻠﻢ ﺟﺎﺋﻊ، ﻣﻮﺅﻭﺩ

ﺩﺍﺧﻠﻲ

ﻣﻨﺬ ﺍﻟﻮﻻﺩﺓ

سارة هي أصغر شهيدة في ملحمة 7 مارس بنقردان

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À vos plumes

Woman with a parasol

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Published

6 jours ago

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11 février 2026 [simplicity-save-for-later]

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« what are you so afraid of losing when nothing in this world belongs to you. »

I think of this quote way often, way more than i should.
Every time the sunset is too beautiful, the trees cast the shadows on the streets, and i catch myself missing old versions of me, of how everything used to be .. every time a train passes by and i just stand there, standing still in a world that’s constantly moving forward.

Every time i raise my eyes to the vast deep blue sky and the stars are flickering with light, a passionate light, showering the world with their magic. Every time the moon is following me down a long heavy road from home to home — a feeling I’ll never get used to. Every time i catch a bird doing its little dance in the misty rain and it all feels a bit too good to be true .. every time a familiar face passes next to me on a road busy with people, with life.

Every time i feel safe, scared, hopeful .. every time i feel, i am reminded of how « nothing in this world belongs to me, and i belong to everything. » Of how i have nothing to lose yet everything to experience .. what a wonderful gift it is that none of this grief i carry between the palms of my hands belongs to me, none of this beauty around me belongs to me. I get to live through it all. I get to experience it all.

Written by: Hadil Khalili

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