The Baby Of Gaza, Frozen İn The Cold

O child—
Noble soul of sacred Gaza,
Let the heartless who doomed you
Be damned by the silence they worship.

If there must be cruelty in this world,
Let it not bear your name.
Let frost not weave
Its fingers through your skin,
Nor famine hush
The breath of your beginning.
Let a rose’s thorn
Brush your hand with mercy.

As your wings unfold
And carry you to forever,
May your homeland bloom—
A garden of sorrow,
Of roses in every hue.

You were meant to dance
Through youthful days,
And grow gently into
The grace of old age.
Ah, little one—
Let the End of Days itself
Weep for what was taken from you.

Let your lashes be arrows,
And strike deep
Into the hearts of the unfaithful.
Let each strand of your hair
Be a noose
For a thousand soulless men.
May your brows be blades
The oppressed may bear
As crowns of defiance.

Let your tongue speak
Prayers turned to fire,
Curses born of truth—
And shame the voiceless
Who bowed before tyranny.

Your skin—
So cold, sweet child...
While others lie
In warmth and forgetfulness.
Let them be the ones
Who shiver now,
In dreams they can’t escape.

And your gaze—
Deeper than this world
Could ever dare to measure.
No—
These small-hearted creatures
Will never understand
What you saw,
What you carried
In your final glance.