One, two, three…
My city is hell,
Not anymore well.

Each night of the war,
on stairs of displacement, I sit.
I’m trying to take a deep breath,
but winds full of memories,
full of thoughts, full of death.

Hush, listen! Can you hear?
The relentless buzzing drones,
their annoying hum, piercing my ear.

Hush! Listen! Can you hear?
The rumbling tanks and clanking bulldozers,
their engines tearing through our land,
devastating our olive trees.

Hush! The sounds grow louder
and louder… Can you hear?
The sharp sound of artillery shells.
The roar of airstrikes,
and the gunships raining fire upon us?

Listen! Can you hear the wails of children,
the mourning of women lamenting
the loved ones killed by Israelis?
Their sorrow shatters my heart
into a million fragments.

Hush! Listen! Can you hear the silence
piercing my ears, filling the air widely?
Not the silence you know,
but a silence thick with shock,
deep grief, trauma unexpressed,
that could never be heard!

Look! Can you see our homes
swaying by the volcano of bombs,
burning under the hellish shells.
Can you feel our hearts shaking,
expecting to be the next victim, the next killed?
Our homes reduced to rubble,
Our dreams scattered like ash in the wind.
Our faces, once vibrant, now etched
with the tale of profound sorrow.

Can you see how the red bombs devour
all the darkness above us,
illuminating the sky with the blood
of our martyrs scattered across the land?
In Gaza, it’s rare to find a whole martyr;
some lie in fragments,
some buried beneath debris,
some burned beyond recognition,
others reduced to memories on the wind.
Loss a burden too heavy to bear,
our chests tight, our hearts collapse,
our souls stained with deep sorrow.
We carry an exhaustion that mountains could not shoulder.

I never feel so weary like in this war,
I feel I am on the edge of collapse,
amid broken windows of happiness.
I feel like a moon lost in its orbit,
a bird migrating, longing for home,
a long night seeking dawn’s light.

Each night, shadows of death fall —
not merely seen, but smelled, felt, tasted.
The bitterness of death whispering close,
prompting thoughts of what it feels like.

Hush! Listen closely! Can you hear someone’s last breath,
Can you hear it? Can you feel it?
Can you imagine it?
I’ve heard it, seen the ground
soaked with blood.

Now, I stop counting my days.
My city is hell; what more should I tell?