Poetry:, Ashraf AboArafe
O Gaza… since your distant cry drew near,
my heart has rallied, trembling yet sincere.
And Salah Gomaa, with a watcher’s faithful flame,
sets down the truth though sorrow speaks its name.
You linger still within my soul’s embrace,
as faith once carved its light upon your face.
I walk your thirsty streets; their broken doors
reach out with longing no siege ever ignores.
Your ageless tale has shaped my inner years,
and planted patience deep beyond my fears.
I saw a child, an orphan of the fire,
wear honor as his shield, his lone attire.
I saw a mother—grief upon her throne—
release her final light to save her own.
O Gaza of endurance… children’s song,
teaching the tears to rise, proud and strong.
And now destruction like a blazing tide
sweeps through your alleys; nothing stays, nor hides.
Yet Gomaa, walking through the smoke and night,
bears witness still, and will not veil the light.
What harm had your small smiling homes begun,
that every feast returns with mourning undone?
But still you stand, like water—pure and clear—
no bomb can stain the depths you hold sincere.
You live as long as breath in humankind,
as long as history turns and calls your mind.
You stand—O shrine of free hearts—testifying
that dignity is born where all is dying.
O Gaza of tomorrow… from your pain
a city rises, crowned with steadfast grain.
For twenty years your tale has taught the earth
what truth is worth when blindness steals its worth.
From Gaza’s shore to Jerusalem’s height,
a people claims again their stolen right.
No dream of theirs is lost; only those fall
who fail to see the greatness in their call.
O home whose doorway opened freedom’s gate,
your noble blood has never bowed to fate.
And still one truth endures, through fire and flood:
the land is one—
and you remain its living, beating blood.
