Voices of Gaza's Children

 (dedicated to all Syaheed people in Gaza, especially the innocent children)

I never knew death until I saw the bombing of a refugee camp
Craters filled with disfigured ankles and splattered torsos
But no sign of a face, the only impression a fading scream
I never understood pain
Until a seven-year-old girl clutched my hand
Stared up at me with soft brown eyes, waiting for answers
But I didn’t have any
I had muted breath and dry pens in my back pocket
That couldn’t fill pages of understanding or resolution

 She thinks back words and memories of his last hug before he turned and fell
Now she pumps dirty water from wells, while settlements divide and conquer
And her father’s killer sits beachfront with European vernacular
She thinks back words, while they think backwards
Of obscene notions and indigenous confusion

-Remi Kanazi-

I, too, have a dream ...
that one day Jews and Christians
will see me as I am:
a small child, lonely and afraid,
staring down the barrels of their big bazookas,
knowing I did nothing
to deserve their hatred. 

 I lived as best I could, and then I died.
Be careful where you step: the grave is wide.

 ―The Child Poets of Gaza

Have a good 'rest' dear my little syaheed. 

Jannah is waiting for you dear... ='(

"Allahumansuril Islam wal muslimin wal mujahidin 

fi Gaza, fi Palestine, fi Syria, fi Rohingya, fi Malezi 

wafi kulizamana wafi kulimakan"