Watching the sun go down
Watching the sun come up
Seeing people move on
Seeing life go on
Watching my life go down
Like the last ship sinking, unseen and uncalled for

Nobody even seems to know I'm out here
Not a flare not a static on the radio
No surface or land in sight just
Me and my mind
A silent rising tide
Drifting afar towards the nothing
Just away

I wonder what more the world will see
The best went by, the worst may be.
A child with toy cries out in plea
As war burns down his sheltering tree.

He asks his toy, innocently:
“What made the sky fall silently?”
He looks around, helplessly,
Then screams in pain, so desperately.

“Who brought the war to burn my tree?
Why does the world watch silently?
Who chained their hands from helping me?
If I could speak what I wished for me
To see the world live peacefully.”

But now I know the world I see
Was never really made for me.
It’s made for those who close their eyes
For those who scroll while someone dies.

In Gaza’s hush, the night ignites,
With fire that falls from foreign heights.
No lullabies, no peaceful skies
Just sirens' wail and mothers’ cries.

The olive trees, once full of grace,
Now bleed in every sacred place.
A child clutches a broken toy,
Still searching for a taste of joy.

Walls close in where hope once grew,
Beneath the dust, the sky turns blue
But no one looks, or dares to see
The lives erased so brutally.

The sea is near, but not for play,
It mirrors smoke by light of day.
And prayers rise up through shattered glass,
For peace to come, for war to pass.

O world that watches, cold and still,
Why must the blood of dreams be spilled?
How loud must grief begin to scream
Before you fight for more than dreams?

In Gaza’s heart, they still resist
Each breath they draw is a quiet fist.
And even when the nights are long,
They sing the truth in trembling song:

“We are not rubble, we are the roots,
We are the echoes in the flutes.
We are the dawn you’ll one day see
A people’s pain, a people free.

If you can’t hold on others secrets with you, better stop listening to them.

i keep looking
for the meaning
in small things --
like in the way she says
my name,
somehow it sounds
so right.
or how silence
still answers me.

If you think noise is loud
You haven’t been around silence enough

i say
"i don't care"
like it's a piece of armour --
almost like if i say it
enough
itll become
true.

but my soul,
it still aches.
in the middle of the
darkness,
in the silence,
it remebers
what my mouth
tries to forget.

i don't care.
but only
out loud,
the rest of me
still cares --
in the darkness,
and in the silence.

I lay on the bedroom floor, looking at the sky.
The blue filled sky with dandelions and hope.

The white petals cover the sky, as the yellow pistil covers my room with its golden pollen.

The pollen shines through the paper thin curtains,
that take the form of a star.

Star silhouette that reminds me of the one above Bethlehem,
the Nordic star that was to guide people to its saviour.

It gets me to wonder.
Am I shouting loud enough?

Am I shouting loud enough
for the petals to wither away and make gray the new blue?

Loud enough for the star
that was supposed to guide me through the misty paths with muddy pits that drown adventurous,
to lower its rays so they are no longer able to cut the surroundings with guilt?

Every ray of pollen that hits the windows and grass,
cuts right thru the paper thin curtains which reveal the dirt and dust the room is left in.

No matter the effort.
No matter the hope.
No matter the screams.
The dirt stays there.
It stays right where it’s left.

Time moves, places stay.
The star formed pollen shines through the paper revealing all its secret.

Wishes and screams it held inside,
Now being poured out onto the wall
in shapes and figures that tell
decades of stories,
decades of history,
decades of dirt.

Suddenly everything falls silent. Everything except the stories the curtains hold.

They whisper and talk,
cry and whimper,
shout and beg.

Everything happens so quietly that it is impossible to notice,
so quietly that even a snail that carries its whole world
would make a bigger disturbance.

The only thing that reveals the tragic game of monopoly and irony of music,
is the paper thin curtains that keep shouting and begging,
but still overpowered by the world around.