Small Voices From Gaza

This morning,

the wall they planted raised with the early sun

climbed high

towards the shadowy sky.

There is hatred inside it; there are flames and blood

burying our scattered voices that cried.

Let it be, said mum, as our prayers do so

flowing high

towards the loving sky.

Pray my dear, pray silence and high

for the sweetness of Life it is not

but for the thickness of death that we fought.

Let us reside in the land of Fi Sabilillah

soon we breathe in its harmonies

as the cool breeze awaits us There.

There they came with rifles in their hands

depicting boundaries here on the sands

(here, the grave is ours; the estate is theirs)

Alhamdulillah, whispered mum

the dust here is more fragrant

the farm here is more fertile

like a land of spring flowers

sprinkled by our blood loves.

Our Imaan is never killed here.

Moments before mum went high

embracing death with her sweetest smile

said she, "This land is Amanah from Him

let your names be written on its sands

not with pen neither with hands

but with Jihad that would never end"

This morning

the wall they planted raised with the early sun

mounting high

towards the smoky sky

hence do our loves fly high

filling the sky with Imaan that never dies.

Fahd Razy

Dublin, Ireland.

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