Daily terror, daily pain,
children cry in Gaza’s rain.
Six thousand trucks with food denied,
they starve while waiting on the side.
The bombs fall hard, the homes are gone,
on the cold ground they sleep until dawn.
At night they scream from endless fear,
by day they cry with hunger near.
When will this torment find its end?
When will the broken hearts still find mend?
No bread to eat, no life to live,
a mother’s boy had love to give.
He thought, I made it, almost there!
but bullets struck and stilled his air.
So many tried for food that day,
the soldiers came and shot their way.
And in the streets, so many fall,
just children, innocent through all.
For they were born in Palestine,
their lives erased, erased in line.
The world’s afraid, its leaders weak,
they whisper low, but dare not speak.
Sanctions stall, while time runs thin,
should we boycott oranges… or tangerines?
Yet weapons flow from west to east,
while crumbs are dropped, a guilty feast.
Millions starve, their hope is small,
the world looks on, and does not call.
No one dares to say “Enough!”
Israel’s hand is far too tough.
And those who speak are smeared with hate,
their voices drowned, their words too late.
Meanwhile children pay the price,
their lives are bartered, sacrificed.
Leaders claim this land their own,
they crush the seeds the kids have sown.
But still, among the ash and flame,
the children whisper freedom’s name.
Though caught in Gaza on the street
some of their hearts still beat.
Malin Sellergren, PoeticArtstories
