By: Momina Shaharyar
Woe to the people whose life was once filled with ecstasy,
Now they see the horrors that befall upon them.
From every corner, infants cry and women weep,
Grinding in the mill of oppression, yet still stand tall like a resilient mountain—
Those people were the epitome of valor.
Oppressors rule over them with an iron fist,
Fabricate hideous plans with a twist.
By the strike of thunderous roar, each building, each street turns to rubble;
Nowadays, Gaza seems like an infernal furnace—
Now it is known as a ghost town.
Pay tribute to those who risk their lives to open the eyes of the world,
But the world sleeps soundly in its sweet slumber.
By witnessing all this, I often wonder:
Are upcoming events already crafting their shadows?
Their country turned to shards of glass,
People evacuate, demolish houses.
Infants’ tiny hands, lifeless bodies, blood-stained cradles—
Unborn hopes, unfulfilled dreams, silenced screams, forgotten cries.
Babies killed in dozens; blood floats like a stream of river.
In the darkness, a sky-borne fury hit the camps,
Made them glow like burning lamps.
Under a cloud of fumes, death descends,
Engulfing the mortals with a merciless end.
Motionless bodies, empty gazes once filled with ambition—now they cease.
Voices silenced; lives eternally freeze.
