Where will Gaza be taken?
This question presses
against my chest like the desert wind—laden not with sand, but with ash, blood,
and the rustle of broken dreams.
"Where will Gaza be taken?"—I whispered this into the night
sky. But the sky remained silent, as if carrying the burden of centuries, its
eyes the color of bruised history. I do not answer with
prophecy. I answer with layers—like the layers of the Earth that remember every
burial, every promise broken, every prayer unsaid.
First, from the
Realm of Power and Politics:
Gaza is not merely
soil—it is the chessboard of empires.
I have watched the great nations—America, and its kindred allies—feed the
occupation with fuel and silence, hiding greed beneath diplomacy. The Arab world—some
turned their faces, mouths sewn shut by fear or ambition. Israel, methodical and cold, sculpted Gaza into an open-air prison, where
breath, light, and water are measured in cruel rations. I see Gaza as a
pulse—pressed underfoot by the powers that be, so the world might be taught how to love without surrendering to despair.
Second, from the
Lens of History and the Soul’s Endurance:
To me, Gaza is a small Simurgh on the edge of the world—burned again and again, yet rising each time from its own ash, though no one applauds. Gaza has never bowed. Its body has been broken, yes—but not its will, not its soul. Children here grow up not only with books, but with stones, memory, and fire in their eyes. Resistance is not a slogan—it is the very grammar of their breath. And I think to myself:
If the world is fire, Gaza is the ember that refuses to go out.
Third, from the
Realm of the Spirit and Silent Hope:
In Gaza, I see not only suffering—I see scripture. A sacred book written in the blood of martyrs and the tears of mothers who bury their children wrapped in white shrouds of light. Beyond the agony, there are prayers rising—like soft incense reaching a sky higher than politics, higher than drones. Perhaps Gaza is oppressed on Earth.
But I believe—perhaps madly, perhaps mystically—that it is honored in Heaven.
Maybe Gaza will never
find peace in this world.
But I feel it… Gaza is being carried closer to God.
"Is not God with
those who are patient?" the Qur'an asks.
I believe Gaza is His patient beloved.
So where will
Gaza be taken?
To the edge of our
collective patience—where humanity is asked to show its remaining heart.
To the lonely path of the prophets—who were cast aside for telling the truth.
To the final page of history—
when all tyrants have fallen,
when masks are removed,
when the world finally sees:
Gaza did not lose.
It was the world that failed.
I'm so sorry ... I'm so sorry ...
