In Palestine, where hunger knocks on the doors before hope ever dares to,
there are small faces that fell asleep to the cries of empty stomachs,
and woke up only to the news of yet another loss.
In Gaza… bread has become a dream, water more precious than gold,
and a mother hides her tears so her child won’t see,
when he asks her: “Mama, when will we eat?”
Amid this darkness, there was a voice that carried the truth,
a camera that never feared, a lens that never lied…
Journalist Anas, who carried his cause on his shoulders,
and documented with his blood what words could never describe.
He left, but he did not die… for martyrs never die,
and their voices echo in our hearts:
"Do not forget Palestine… do not forget Gaza… do not forget the children."
I write this because I don’t want the world to treat their suffering as just another passing headline.
It is a life being crushed, a scream being silenced,
and a memory that must never be erased.
