In the shadow of broken walls and rubble,
where silence speaks louder than blood,
the land trembles, a mother in grief,
her children lost in the shifting dust.

In Gaza, the night stirs with fear,
thousands of souls trapped in the dark
echoes of a past too heavy to carry,
dreams scattered like shards of glass.

The sun still rises, bringing life to an olive branch of hope,
a child’s laugh, fragile as air,
a prayer whispered through cracks where light gets in.

But the borders are drawn, like scars,
between a past and a future both uncertain,
the cries of those who have nowhere to go,
and the cold indifference of those who do.

Is this how it was always meant to be?
Where only hatred is sown in a common soil,
and peace is a promise left unspoken,
its voice swallowed by the roar of the guns.

We speak of peace tomorrow, but it is always too far,
just out of reach, like a distant star.
And yet, in the hands of the lost and the weary,
there is the smallest hope that we might find
a way to live beyond the walls,
to see the sky as it was meant to be
wide and open, with no divide.