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.
This poem is the testimony of time witnessing the criminal silence of the world towards the Genocide in Gaza. We all heard the story of the Wolf and the Lamb in our childhood, today we are witnessing it with our own eyes.
