Tuesday, February 20, 2024

In Gaza's heart, a poet roamed,
Capturing sorrows felt and moaned,
Motaz Azaiza, with lens aglow,
Exposed the pain, yet little to show.

Through streets of strife, he bravely trod,
With camera lens, he played his ode,
Yet 'Nothing Changed,' his mournful cry,
As Gaza's echoes faded into the sky.

In the ambulance's frantic race,
Paramedics brave, with sorrow on face,
Their tales untold, their burden immense,
Yet Gaza's suffering, a cycle intense.

Life behind the fence, a stark divide,
Where hope and despair closely abide,
A world apart, but not so far,
In Gaza's shadow, a silent scar.

In Jerusalem's speeches, a political dance,
As gunfire echoes in Gaza's expanse,
A tale of two worlds, intertwined yet apart,
Where peace remains a distant art.

In a region torn by endless fight,
Where darkness shrouds both day and night,
Motaz Azaiza's lens did frame,
The pain, the loss, the eternal flame.