“The war will end.
The leaders will shake hands.
The old woman will keep waiting for her martyred son.
That girl will wait for her beloved husband.
And those children will wait for their heroic father.
I don’t know who sold our homeland…
But I saw who paid the price.”
— Mahmoud Darwish
These words pierce like silence after gunfire.
In a world shaped by decisions made far above, it is the nameless, the forgotten, and the grieving who carry the weight.
Let this poem be a voice for them.
✨ If you feel the depth of these words, join us.
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