Israel, Weeps but Stands

Israel weeps beneath a wounded sky, where prayers once rose like incense, now swallowed by fire and dust, buried beneath the weight of fallen stone. The streets hum with ghostly echoes, laughter turned to silence, dreams turned to rubble, love turned to names carved in grief. A mother clutches a child's shoe, the other lost in the smoke, a father’s hands—once builders— now dig through ruins, seeking, hoping. The olive trees still stand, roots deep in sacred earth, leaves heavy with sorrow, branches reaching—pleading for peace. And yet, even as shadows stretch long, even as sorrow stains the land, a voice rises—a whisper, a song, one candle, then another, then more. For Israel weeps, but Israel stands.