In Gaza’s dust, where dreams are starved and torn,
The children dig for crumbs the world has sworn.

No grain of wheat, no olive branch remains,
Just broken backs and bags of ghostly grains.

Their hands are pale, yet burn with silent might,
While hope turns ash beneath the vulture’s flight.

Each sack they fill is filled with grief and sand,
A war-born harvest on a haunted land.

The smoke of bread becomes their daily breath,
Each bite a battle at the edge of death.

Mothers with arms like branches stripped of fruit
Rock babes to sleep with silence as their lute.

Where once the jasmine climbed and minarets sang,
Now rubble speaks, and hunger’s hammers clang.

Yet still they kneel to scoop what life they can,
Defying siege with dignity and plan.

What state allows a child to beg for wheat?
What soul stays mute as vultures circle meat?

But Gaza, draped in dust and ancient grace,
Still plants its prayers in that forsaken place.

For though the world may look and turn away,
Their roots of hope will bloom some brighter day.

Beneath the crescent moon and olive tree,
He stands—a prince of dusk, wild-hearted, free.

With eyes like coals that burned through dusk and doubt,
He knew my silence, sensed what grief's about.

A shepherd not of flocks but dreams and fears,
He licked the salt of both my joys and tears.

His bark was thunder, yet his soul was balm—
He'd chase the wind, then sleep with nature's calm.

No marble gate could guard me half as well
As Rex’s watchful stride and warm farewell.

He'd leap through dawn like firelight off the shore,
Each morning's vow more loyal than before.

When shadows came, he did not bark or flee—
He simply stood, a storm beside my knee.

And if the world grew dark or hearts grew dim,
The light I lost would find its way through him.

Now when I walk, the leash feels ghostly bare,
Yet in the breeze, I still can scent his care.

He was no beast, but breath with fur and flame—
A soul who came, who stayed, and earned his name.

At break of dawn, they rose with dreams so small,
To earn a wage, to help their homes stand tall.

For just some pounds, they walked the dusty way,
To work in fields through labor's bitter day.

But death came swift, like thunder from the skies,
And snatched away nineteen with tearless eyes.

Mothers had waited, hearts so full of grace,
But news came home with horror on its face.

Fathers collapsed on earth with broken pride,
As if the ground itself for them had died.

Who bears the blame? A voice too high to hear—
He sits above, untouched by pain or fear.

Two hundred thousand for the dead, they say—
But can this gold bring back a breath, a day?

Will coins be wrapped within her funeral sheet,
To warm her bones beneath the winding street?

Will money dry the mother’s endless tears,
Or mend a father crushed by haunted years?

A girl once lit her house with joy and song,
Now silence rules where laughter lived so long.

I thought: what if that girl had been my own?
My body shook, my soul gave out a moan.

Why don’t such things strike warfields drenched in flame?
But come to homes that bear God’s holy name?

The roads are paved, but laws lie deep asleep,
No watch, no guard, just chaos in the sweep.

O fate unseen! Have mercy on the weak,
Who seek no feast—just sleep and bread they seek.

O grieving mother, let your sorrow flow,
And lift your hands to God who sees your woe.

This year I lost the closest heart to mine,
My mother, love so pure, a light divine.

She held my hand when all the world was wide,
And in her love I’d safely run and hide.

At five, while siblings went to school each day,
With her I laughed and helped her clear the tray.

We sipped our tea and watched the camel pass,
He'd nod to me through panes of morning glass.

I’d climb the couch to wave and call his name,
But fate, that day, had played a cruel game.

I lost my balance—down I fell so fast,
And hit the ground; I thought that breath my last.

The cries rose high; old women screamed in fear,
My mother rushed and held her baby near.

They told her, “No, he’s gone, don’t try to fight,”
But she refused and said, “My son’s in light!”

She found a truck, the only one around,
And drove me fast across the dusty ground.

The doctors stared—they said, “He should be dead,”
But I came back, because of what she said.

She gave me life, then saved it one more time,
And for that gift, I write this humble rhyme.

If not for her, I wouldn’t be alive,
Her faith in me still helps my soul survive.

My mother, now a star above,
Her gentle spirit fills me with love.

She gave me life, her tender care,
Her whispered prayers are everywhere.

In every step, I feel her near,
Her voice, a whisper I still hear.

Through all the storms, she kept me warm,
Her love, my shelter from all harm.

Before I speak, she knew my pain,
Her heart, a balm that healed the strain.

Her love, a flame that never dies,
A light that still within me lies.

When darkness falls, she shines so bright,
Guiding me through the endless night.

Her memory, a soft embrace,
A precious mark I can't erase.

She held my heart with steady hands,
Her wisdom flowing like the sands.

Each day I live, I feel her there,
In every thought, in my head, I bear.

Her smile, a beacon through my strife,
Her love is the meaning of my life.

Her warmth will forever stay,
A light that never fades away.

Now she's gone, but not from me,
Her love lives on eternally.

Mom, you were my heart, my soul,
Without you, life’s never whole.

Farewell, my queen, my guiding star,
I will always love you wherever you are.

Amira shines with grace, so pure, so bright,
A princess draped in heaven’s golden light.

Her presence, soft as petals in the breeze,
A whispering charm that sets the heart at ease.

With beauty rare, like moonlight on the sea,
She walks, and all the world bows gracefully.

Her eyes, like stars, with tender glances gleam,
A sight so fair, it feels just like a dream.

Her voice, so soft, like music in the air,
Each word she speaks is sweet and fair.

Her smile, a spark that warms the coldest night,
It fills the world with joy and pure delight.

Her hands, so light, like feathers on the skin,
A touch so kind, it calms the storm within.

Her heart, so pure, so gentle and so true,
She paints the world in love’s most golden hue.

Her noble soul, like rivers strong and deep,
A spirit bright, that time and trials keep.

With every step, a melody she plays,
The earth itself delights in her soft ways.

Her kindness glows like sunshine after rain,
It soothes the soul and washes away pain.

Her laughter rings like bells so light and free,
A sound of bliss, as soft as waves at sea.

With grace she moves, as if on air she glides,
A queen of hearts whom fate itself provides.

Her presence fills the air with peace so true,
A blessing rare, like drops of morning dew.

In all she does, a light of love remains,
A soul so bright, untouched by sorrow’s chains.

I’ve loved so much and parted even more,
My life’s a journey split by halves and tore.

How can I ponder love before I leap,
When love moves faster than the thoughts we keep?

Oh, you whose heart has suffered endless ache,
Where can you flee from wounds you can’t forsake?

And where to hide from love’s relentless call,
When every road leads to its heart through all?