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Her life was stolen a brutal end
Justice delayed a slow cruel end
And little Hind Rajab killed and
Her body lay a stark and silent thing
Beneath the weeping willow's gentle sway

And her blood flowing everywhere
As evil fills the air and the
The killer escapes a coward's bend
And on the streets we stop and pray
A life once bright now she rests beneath
The stars every night and
A silent scream a life in vain
****** never ending in Palestine
And it's a terrible shame and
The memories of Hind Rajab
Will never fade away and your
Smile is deep in our hearts every day
And you where so pure and sweet and
Your country Palestine mourns your loss
And hearts that beat now carry heavy chains And we truly miss you Hind Rajab
And every night I light a candle just for you
And for every silent cry that meets the dawn
A question lingers echoing in vain
And Hind Rajab we will forever and always remember you.
Hind Rajab, was a five-year-old Palestinian girl, in Gaza. As her family sought to escape the relentless bombardment in Tel al-Hawa, their car was mercilessly targeted by an Israeli tank in an attack that can only be described as a war crime. Hind survived the initial barrage, only to be left alone in the blood-soaked car, surrounded by the bodies of her loved ones. Her desperate cries for help, as she begged for rescue on the phone with emergency services, moved hearts around the world. The ambulance that was sent to save her, after hours of negotiation, was obliterated by the Israeli army, ensuring that Hind's life was cruelly and deliberately extinguished.
war
a ***** war between language and forgetting

Gulag,  Holocaust, Holodomor, Maafa
Operation Condor,  Shock and Awe
red famine, potato famine
the kurdish, uyghur, rohingya, Isaaq genocide
Bengal, Rwanda, Armenia, Ukraine, Palestine,
Burundi, Nigeria, Zimbabwe
encompassing the geography of cruelty
someone humane did
actually write a book of inhumanity
560000 people killed on every page
1500 people killed at every word

still can't decipher the blood as if it's a hieroglyph
insatiable the history of pain

some are in the mood for war, for triumph
our eyes are swallowed by a verticalless convulsion
the cyclopic mind is doomed to fail
it's impossible to bury this time
in a hacked sky over a fragile earth
In a land where olive trees swayed
And little children used to play where
Hope bloomed bright in Palestine
Every night and voices echo in the air and
Little Palestinian children everywhere
A story unfolds we're told
Of conflict and strife
No happiness in Palestine tonight and
In Palestine's heart dreams won't fray.
The Israeli army has just
Killed an American citizen
Yet nothing will be said about this.
R.I.P
Palestine is like a sick woman.
Her body is being eaten away by rotten cancer until she is dying.
But she is pregnant and she must give birth soon.
Give birth to a baby she has been waiting for so long.
When the time comes for the birth the woman is in pain.
She screams in unbearable pain and bleeding profusely.
Slowly get her baby out of her womb that is being eaten away by rotten cancer.
A very slow and painful birth.
Too slow and too painful.
Until finally the woman dies after giving birth.
Ending the long painful suffering and giving the beginning of life.
To a weak premature baby who cries so loudly.
That is the cry of the newborn Palestine.


April 2025

By Alvian Eleven
 Mar 12 Arthur Vaso
Rose
I sit in the corner,
where the world moves past me.

I laugh, I nod,
but in the spaces between,
I wonder if I’m actually here
or just an echo.

I turn small things into lifelines,
and then—just like that—they fade.

People don’t leave loudly,
just quietly, subtly,
like a book set down
and never picked up again.

Maybe that’s fine.
Maybe that’s just how it is.
A quiet, familiar tune,
played on the world’s smallest violin.
Not loud enough to stop anyone,
but always playing.
 Mar 6 Arthur Vaso
Aya
How can this be?
Too deep to understand, too deep to digest.
How can this be?
How can you turn away, and act as if you were blind to babies being burned, and buried in the rubble, decimated lifeless tinted souls on your vision screen.
There aren’t enough adjectives to describe the horrific images.
How can this be?
The screams of death in realtime stays with me.  
For I will never forget.... you too should never forget.  
The screams of death echo and rains on me like the blues.
What a tragedy.  
Too deep to understand, too deep to digest.  
How can this be?
 Aug 2024 Arthur Vaso
Kalliope
When I close my eyes tightly,
And I do this nightly,
I can hear your voice.
You speak to me softly,
And I think ungodly,
Now I can feel your presence.
A touch I'll never know,
You already let me go,
Doesn't mean I don't miss you.
I wish I didn't
Because you don't
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