In Memory Of Palestine’s Children
For Those Fighting to Breathe on Earth, Awaiting Their Turn to Join the Others in Heaven
Today is November 3rd, and since October 7th, Israel has been continuously launching air attacks on the Palestinian enclave, which is already grappling with a deteriorating humanitarian crisis. As of November 3rd, at noon local time, the toll stands at:
- Killed: At least 9,227, including at least 3,826 children and 2,405 women.
- Injured: At least 32,516, including at least 6,360 children and 4,891 women.
Israeli airstrikes on Gaza have led to the loss of one child’s life every 10 minutes since the beginning of the conflict.
This poem is my modest contribution from my place in the world, a simple tribute to help history remember and enlighten those unaware of the truth. I want to clarify that I am not a poet; I am just a human, a mother who keenly feels the pain.
ُIn a land where dreams should bloom and thrive,
A tragic tale unfolds, no one can deny.
Children, innocent, with futures so bright,
Now lie in silence, taken by endless night.
Under the false name of self-defense they claim,
An occupation army, casting shadows of shame.
For seventy-five years, their land’s been defiled,
A tale of anguish for each precious child.
The mothers weep, their hearts heavy with grief,
Their dreams shattered beyond all belief.
For the children they carried, nurtured, and bore,
Now lost to a conflict, forevermore.
Israel’s occupation, a story so profound,
With the aid of those who turned their hearts around.
The land called Palestine, a promise once made,
For the few, it was stolen, in darkness they’d trade.
The world remained quiet, as their hearts turned to stone,
While the occupation’s cruelty continued to hone.
Day by day, more land is seized and stolen,
Houses razed, and hearts forever broken.
Settlements rise on what was sacred ground,
As the cries of the innocent, still, resound.
In the shadows, an old olive tree stands tall,
A witness to the tragedy, seeing it all.
600 years of history, the tree did hold,
But Israel’s actions left it lifeless and cold.
Olive trees, symbols of peace and grace,
Cut down in their prime, in this tragic place.
In this heart-wrenching tale of loss and despair,
Hospitals, once sanctuaries, were not spared.
Bombs fell on them, with merciless intent,
Where healing hands worked, destruction was sent.
The wounded and ill, already so frail,
Found their refuge transformed into a living hell.
In the chaos of conflict, their cries went unheard,
As hospitals crumbled and their sanctity was blurred.
Desperation grew as supplies ran low,
Doctors and nurses worked in the midst of the blow.
Ice cream trucks, once joyful and sweet,
Now carried the bodies of those they couldn’t keep.
Innocent lives lost, caught in the crossfire’s grip,
As the world watched on, unable to mend or to equip.
The cries of the wounded, the tears of the lost,
A stark reminder of the true human cost.
Amidst the darkness, we must stand strong,
For the rights of the oppressed, we must belong.
To bring an end to this cycle of pain,
And heal the wounds that still remain.
The olive tree, though lifeless and cold,
Is a symbol of resilience, a story to be told.
Just as the ice cream trucks carried the deceased,
Let us carry their memory, in our hearts, it’s released.
In this tragic reality, we’ll spread the word,
To shatter the silence that often goes unheard.
You will never be erased, your memory shall live,
In the hearts of those who grieve and forgive.
As resistance grows within the hearts of the oppressed,
Know that God is our witness, in whom we find rest.
The hope for a brighter future, we must strive to attain,
So that such tragedies may never occur again.
