I, Hekmet Abdulla, was born in Gaza in 1987,
I, Hekmet Abdulla, died in Gaza in 2005,
Me, who was beaten to death,
Like a dear in an arena of lions striving for help and a breath of life.
Except this lion was my father
Hi, my name is Hekmet Abdulla
Dragging me by my hair like I wasn’t his the daughter that brought upon happiness after seven years of miserable marriage
The pain, the sorrow every slap and kick
The unlimited crying while my blood wet his hands and covered the floor
I could hear the screaming
I could hear the screaming of my younger sisters and brother
Whose innocent lives lie in the hands of my filthy dad and helpless mom
Those lives that will be restrained by the society
And that shall be criticized my this ignorant community
I loathe the hour I was born
The minute I was out of my mother’s womb
The second they cut this umbilical cord
And why? Because of this society
Screw the society that allows such crime to happen
Screw the society that believes in honor killing and gender inequality
Screw it screw it !!!!
Hi my name is Hekmet Abdulla, and I was murdered by my father
That once kind father that held me like a treasure he found after digging in the hot burning desert
The father that bought me the first dress, earing, and shoe
And that hugged me every time he walk out of the door and kissed me on my cheek every time he entered the house
Where is his morals?
It know where it was, it was all brainwashed by the filthy society and its ethics, culture, traditions, and hazardous rituals.
Screw this society
My name is Hekmet Abdulla and I am writing a message from the grave
The grave is you salvation, your redemption, and your prize
There is no better place to feel at peace
You will not be living in fear because of such devil-like eyes and dirty tongues
I feel sympathetic for every girl that once was and is still trapped in such prison cell
Look at what our society has reached to
Why would you beat a girl to death for simply getting saved by a guy from getting hit by a car,
He simply grabbed her by the arm and pushed him towards the sidewalk and she accidentally landed on his shoulders.
My father thought his honor was contradicted
The filthy person who was to be my father thought his honor was more valuable than me.
I, Hekmet Abdulla, was murder by her father at the age of eighteen and am writing a message from the grave.
By Arwa Ahmed