To the child in the ruins Gaza
Do you know what it means
to inherit rubble instead of toys,
to cherish ashes instead of birthdays?
We learned to count not by numbers
but by names of the ones gone.
Our laughter was just like fragile glass
that could shatter too soon.
The child in the ruins—Gaza
We remembered everything each second, that
we were not born to die quietly;
we were born to sing
even as the walls collapsed.
We were to carry a heartbeat that refused silence.
The child in the ruins—Gaza
I walked streets that knew my name,
yet they exiled me.
Exile is not only departure—
it is staying while everything departs from you.
The child in the ruins—Gaza—
To love here is to rebel.
To whisper I love you among selves
is to defy the ruins themselves.
I held a folded note once,
ink trembling with anger but filled with hope.
By candlelight it burned in my chest,
like a fragile drumbeat louder than their bombs.
Love here slipped through rubble,
bloomed in ash,
rooted in cracks no tank could crush.
It was the one truth
A proof that we remain here.
The child in the ruins—Gaza—
And now, scarred but standing,
I carry it all
My tears are rivers,
and rivers water seeds.
I am those seeds.
I am the kite that refuses to fall,
the bread that still rises even without dough,
the silence that breaks into song.
The child in the ruins—Gaza
I am Gaza
shattered, yes,
but burning with life.
And to the slayers,
to those who butchered children
and crowned this earth with their blood,
I say: your hands are cursed.
No prayer will cleanse you,
no dawn will pardon you.
May the agony of every mother’s scream
be chained to your sleep,
may the ghosts of Gaza
haunt your feasts and beds.
May the fathers of those who spilled the blood of Gaza
live long enough to watch their sons rot in disgrace,
may their pride curdle into shame,
and may their lineage be remembered only
as a curse etched into the soil they tried to claim.
You will never be forgiven
not by me,
not by the dust of our graves,
not even by Allah Himself,
whose justice waits beyond your fleeting breath.
One day the ruins will be rebuilt.
One day laughter will flood again,
One day the graves will rest in peace,
not disturbed by your machines of death.
Until then,
I remain the seed,
planted in ash,
growing anyway.
The child in the ruins Gaza
I was once there.
I survived all,
and so will you.
And remember,
“Do not think Allah is unaware of what the wrongdoers do.
He only delays them until a Day when eyes will stare in horror.”
(Qur’an 14:42)
Copyright © Magdalyne muhonja | Year Posted 2025
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