The muezzin’s call to prayer rises above the smoke and heavy remains,
and in the silence of the debris, our ancient history still remains.
There is no water for the thirsty earth, our reservoir leaks and drains,
yet in the roots of the ancient olive trees, the scent of soil still remains.
Inshallah, morning brings a different light than the flashes of nightfalls’ reign,
though the skyline is mapped with rubble, our architecture of hope still remains.
We can’t count the stars that flickered cold above barren, broken plains,
even when the shadows lengthen, our memory still remains.
The world watches their screens as the inks of history spill and stain,
but in front of the screen, our beat of sumud still remains.
The blood that courses through the land is singing in our tired veins,
a promise kept within the marrow, our vow of life still remains.
Oh poet, do not ask how we survive this endless campaign,
for when the dust finally settles, our path back home still remains.
May 20
May 20, 2026 at 7:31 PM UTC
The muezzin’s call to prayer rises above the smoke and heavy remains,
and in the silence of the debris, our ancient history still remains.
There is no water for the thirsty earth, our reservoir leaks and drains,
yet in the roots of the ancient olive trees, the scent of soil still remains.
Inshallah, morning brings a different light than the flashes of nightfalls’ reign,
though the skyline is mapped with rubble, our architecture of hope still remains.
We can’t count the stars that flickered cold above barren, broken plains,
even when the shadows lengthen, our memory still remains.
The world watches their screens as the inks of history spill and stain,
but in front of the screen, our beat of sumud still remains.
The blood that courses through the land is singing in our tired veins,
a promise kept within the marrow, our vow of life still remains.
Oh poet, do not ask how we survive this endless campaign,
for when the dust finally settles, our path back home still remains.
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