Lubna Ahmad Abu Dahrouj
A Palestinian student who lives in the Gaza Strip. She likes to write in English, and is passionate about writing poetry. Her writings have appeared in Baladi, Electronic Intifada, and We Are Not Numbers. Lubna aspires to become a translator and dreams of earning a master’s degree at a university in Britain.
While working on her zine with Coastal Lines Press, two of Lubna’s family members were killed by an IOF airstrike. She has since changed her message to the reader, which you can read below.
We continue to work on Lubna’s zine, entitled Write to Right. It will be released soon.
Dear Readers,
I hope this message finds you well, and more importantly, that your consciousness remains awake.
This zine is dedicated to my beloved eight-year-old brother, Ameer, and my beautiful Mama, who joined him just four days after his martyrdom. I once wondered for whom this zine should be written — for all the martyrs, perhaps, or for names like Dr. Refaat and other friends who were also taken. Life, in its cruel irony, answered me. Now I know. Every word I write trembles with their Literature mirrors life, and life imitates literature. I lean on writing, especially poetry, as my refuge. It is my sanctuary, the vessel through which I release a fragment of agony, a shard of anger. In these pages, I strive to reflect the harsh, unyielding reality of Gaza.
Our martyrs live on — in our minds, in our hearts, and most importantly, in our words. Mama, Ameer, Dr. Refaat, all of them speak through what we write. When you read “October is the cruelest month,” think of Mama. When you read “Let the children of Gaza live,” think of Ameer— think of every child whose laughter was stolen.
I write for my people, for Mama, for Ameer, for every martyr. Though their bodies were taken, metaphorically, they remain alive, telling their stories. We exist in a to-be-or-not-to-be genocide, where each poem becomes both witness and cry.
Do not turn blind. Do not be fooled by fabricated narratives. What is happening in Gaza cannot be captured fully in story or poem; it surpasses words.
As Kait Rokowsky said, “Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends, and we turn it into poetry. All the blood was never once beautiful; it was just red.”
Our poems are not elegies of pity, nor celebrations of death. Do not shed tears for us — they cannot undo our pain. Act. Speak. Share our truth. Challenge the lies. Even the smallest gesture — raising your voice, telling our story — carries weight.
Our words demand your deeds. Break the silence. Stand for justice.
Want to support Lubna?
Contribute to her fundraiser (not available yet).
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Email: lubnaahmad552@gmail.com
Send proof donation to coastallinespress@gmail.com to receive a digital or print copy of (available soon). For print copies, include your full name and address in the email.
Links to other writings by Lubna:
https://wearenotnumbers.org/contributors/lubna_ahmad_abu_dahrouj/
https://electronicintifada.net/people/lubna-ahmad-abu-dahrouj