Hope by Suniti Namjoshi

HOPE

   Lament for Gaza

Out of the box and into the world, but Hope was such a wispy little thing. Didn’t stand a chance. Yet she survived. Because immortal. Too intangible, therefore unkillable.  Rooted in what is best in us, and worst. Hope went swinging along (when walking), flitted along (when flying), avoiding bullets, grenades, shrapnel - settled on battlefields, surveyed the dying scattered about her. She must have been tough.

Did she tell lies, offer sanctuary in a painted paradise? Or did she nurse them like the Lady of Light? If they died afterwards, did that mean that they had given up?

Sometimes she absented herself, to recuperate. Let Old Mother Time do her smash and grab stuff.

In spring, she returned, said she was a goddess, a daughter of earth, till the aeroplanes shrieked and bombs dropped down. Then she had to hide. It was called taking cover. When the killing stopped – eventually it does – Hope emerged. Hollow-eyed people did not lynch Hope. They were busy finding food. And their eyes were not filled with hope. They were filled with nothing.

Why kill Hope, even though she’s a lunatic liar? Sometimes, she extends someone’s life for seconds at a time.

Suniti Namjoshi

29 October 2023

Photo credit: Sharron Wallace Photography