Palestine Is a Cry Poem by Azhar Niaz

In halls of hush, where stillness holds its sway,

I sit, not dumb, but words have gone astray.

They falter, frail, beneath a crushing weight,

Unable to convey a land’s harsh fate.

A scream I hear, though miles may intervene,

From Palestine, a far, tormented scene.

Where skies weep ash, and dust obscures the light,

And earth’s embrace is grave, not soil’s delight.

Where water, once a right, now fades to dream,

And childhood’s fragile bloom meets death’s extreme.

While I, secure in comfort’s gentle hold,

Observe this agony, a story grim and old.

I feel, I wish, to pierce the voiceless air,

Beyond this whisper, burdened with despair.

For Palestine hungers, not for common fare,

But for each breath, for justice, freedom’s prayer.

For simple grace, not buried ‘neath the stone,

Nor cradling infants, starkly, starkly gone.

No morning farewell, born of trembling dread,

Lest night’s return should find the living dead.

And Palestine thirsts, beyond the river’s flow,

For mercy’s balm, for pity’s gentle glow.

Thirsts for the world’s clear voice, its honest plea,

A word undipped in guile, but humanity.

Yet fingers stop the ears, a humming sound,

As screams are drowned, where broken bodies ground.

They speak of “balance,” mocking, cold, and stark,

While shattered lives are piled in shadows dark.

Palestine wounded, deep the spirit’s rend,

Not just the flesh, but where the soul must bend.

Punctured by malice, silenced by the void,

By mothers’ prayers alone, their arms destroyed.

And I, a speck, no leader, nor the brave,

No soldier’s might, no power there to save.

But eyes that brim with tears, and empty hand,

A witness, bound within this suffering land.

Yet silence is no peace, no neutral ground,

But complicity where wrongs abound.

So let my voice, though faltering it may be,

Against the stifling current, struggle free.

Though algorithms bury truths profound,

And airwaves choke the words that would resound,

Still, I will speak.

For Palestine is a cry, a piercing call,

And I refuse to let my spirit fall.

Refuse to turn away, refuse to cease

To feel this pain, and find no inner peace.

For when one human heart begins to bleed,

Humanity itself has sown a bitter seed.

If bombs I cannot halt, nor guns disarm,

Then let my echo be a shield, a charm,

A voice, though small, the world denies to hear,

Resounding, clear, to banish doubt and fear.