The world watches as Gaza, a land rich with history and resilience, endures yet another wave of suffering. This narrow strip of land, home to over two million people, has become a symbol of human perseverance amidst unimaginable hardship. Yet beneat...
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I was Hind Rajab. I was only 6 years old, A child with dreams too big for my small years, Eyes that sparkled with the wonder of a world I barely knew, A voice that giggled in the summer breeze, And feet that danced through Gaza's sunlit streets.
They silenced me with 355 bullets, A number that should have never been. A storm of violence met my innocence, A deluge that silenced the songs I hadn't yet sung, And stole the stories I hadn't yet told. In a world where children should play, My name became a symbol, A plea whispered on the wind, A reminder etched in every heart that hears.
Remember my curls, my little hands, The way I ran in the sun's embrace. Remember my giggles, my small demands, The sparkle of wonder on my face. Don't forget my name. Remember me not as just a number, Not as a tragic headline, But as Hind, The 6-year-old who laughed, who dreamed, who loved, A child who deserved more than an unfinished story.
For in remembering me, You remember them all— The children whose voices Will no longer call. Let my name be a beacon, To protect the innocent, To fight for peace where there is only war, A plea for justice, a promise kept.
And to remember: I was Hind Rajab. I was only 6 years old. Don't forget my name.
