Still, I Dream: A Poem for Gaza

Gaza, Gaza, Gaza I cry for you, Gaza.
In my helplessness, I shed silent tears—unseen, unnoticed.
I wake to the spray of a hot shower,
And it strikes me:
You have no water to drink.

I eat a lavish breakfast—
And ache to remember:
Your children are dying of hunger.

I take my daily medicine,
While doctors in Gaza faint—
They haven’t eaten in days.

No food.
No water.
No medicine.

Only bombs.
Only bullets.
Only ruin.

Why are we so powerless?
Why are the sane voices silenced,
While warmongers and arms dealers rule the world?

I hear the shrieks of starving children,
The wails of mothers whose babies lie beneath rubble,
The eerie silence of shattered homes.

I pray.
But no God seems to listen.

Still, I keep praying.
I keep speaking.
I keep dreaming—

Of a peaceful Gaza,
Where children will laugh again,
Where mothers will smile,
And families will flourish.

Will my dream matter?
I don’t know.

Still, I dream.

I dream of the butterfly effect—
That the flutter of a single wing
Might stir a typhoon of change.

Will you dream with me?