Two hundred plus days, a wound still raw,
Blood stains the earth, a chilling flaw.
Martyrs fallen, bodies defiled,
Innocence lost, a world beguiled.
Laws shattered, a brutal reign,
Children, mothers, all slain in vain.
Buried alive, or blown to dust, Bulldozers crush, a savage lust.
Hospitals burn, mosques turned to ash,
Schools lie silent, dreams turned to trash.
The oppressor’s list, a macabre score,
Yet claims victimhood, at humanity’s core.
Billions flow, their strength renewed,
Vetoes ring hollow, a truth subdued.
Arab silence, a deafening plight,
Fear of the tyrant, obscuring Allah’s light.
Ramadan passed, a holy time,
But the Ummah’s anger, a flickering chime.
Puppet leaders where scholars once thrived,
A twisted age, knowledge unheard,
This silence screams, a terrifying word.
Resurrection’s call, can we ever face,
With empty actions, a hollow embrace?
From words to deeds, how shall we rise?
Two hundred and more days, with tear-filled eyes.
Will the Ummah awaken, break free at last?
Or forever slumber, a future surpassed?
