Everyday in Gaza,
the sun rises, a trembling witness,
spreading its hesitant light over rubble and ruin,
over streets echoing with cries—
half-muffled by the dust,
half-drowned by the silence of the watching world.
The sky blushes with dawn's soft hues,
but its colors are stained—
blood red and ashen grey,
a tapestry of grief painted by the hands of violence.
The warmth that should cradle life
falls instead upon the broken,
upon the scattered remnants of yesterday.
Every sunrise is a sad farewell,
another fragile dream buried in the night.
Mothers clutch their children,
their arms trembling with both love and fear,
their eyes hollow from sleepless vigils,
waiting, always waiting—
for the drone of engines, the scream of steel,
the unrelenting arrival of despair.
The olive trees whisper ancient prayers,
their roots drenched in tears of generations,
their branches outstretched like pleading hands
to a sky deafened by the cries below.
Even the sea, once a solace,
wears the weight of sorrow.
Its waves crash against the shore,
not with the rhythm of life,
but with the cadence of mourning.
Everyday in Gaza,
hope is a fragile ember,
cupped in trembling hands,
threatened by the cold winds of apathy.
Children, their eyes wide with questions
that have no answers,
build castles from the sand—
only to see them washed away
by the tide of an unkind world.
And yet, the people endure,
their resilience a quiet defiance.
For every stone turned to dust,
a memory is carved into the heart.
For every home lost,
a story rises in its place—
a testament that even in the shadow of ruin,
the soul refuses to yield.
But everyday in Gaza,
the sun sets, too weary to linger.
It dips behind the horizon,
dragging its sorrow into the night.
And the moon takes its place,
casting pale light on the wounds of the world,
as if to say,
"I see you. I grieve with you."
The stars, distant and indifferent,
glimmer faintly, their cold beauty mocking
the warmth stolen from this land.
And as darkness falls,
another day ends in lament.
In Gaza, the sun weeps too.
YOU ARE READING
Sunset & Sunrise Over Gaza
PoesiaThe sunset in Gaza bleeds across the horizon, a sky torn between fire and ash, its colors too vivid to bear witness without pain. It drips scarlet and gold, as though the heavens themselves weep for the ground below, where life is snuffed out as swi...
