Death will find them anyway;
in narrow streets of broken walls and dust,
in the shadows of shattered walls
where a mother’s cry is muted,
where children’s laughter
has been silenced forever.
Those houses are no longer homes,
but graves with open windows.
Between the ruins the fighter flights crushed,
their dreams lie buried,
ashes soaked in blood.
The eyes of toys are closed,
the giggles drowned in explosions.
The child once warm in mother’s arms
is now a trembling memory.
Each death was a story,
but the pages lie scattered, unread.
The silence is heavy;
even the wind cries for mercy.
Here, the refugees try to forget,
yet the streets remember more
than their footsteps ever could.
Streets no longer have any names;
only colors, the color of blood.
The scent of earth,
the green of olives,
have turned all to ashes.
Hunger drips into broken plates;
the salt of tears is spilled in vain.
Prayers lie shattered,
cries drown in dust.
When humanity is no more,
blood flows like waves.
The darkest page of cruelty
history refuses to sign.
Gaza, you are that chapter.
No more words,
no more poetry,
no more prayers.
Generation after generation,
your scattered bodies
will bear witness:
this is the so-called man’s cruelty.
The ashes,
the cries of Gaza,
will fall like a curse
into the world’s blind eyes.
For every soul
who stood in silence,
who joined this massacre,
there will be no forgiveness.
And to those who still argue
the justice of war,
here is your evidence of judgment:
burnt bodies,
shattered dreams,
scorched lives !
the loudest cry
of humanity’s decline.
