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.