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Can you hear me ?!

My mind can’t comprehend how Western media still insists on calling it a “ground operation,” while the world has been witnessing (for over 18 months) the most documented and horrifying genocide of the modern era.

I count the moments not with hope, but with the quiet dread of someone walking toward an unseen edge. The countdown has begun, and no one knows how the story ends.

"How are you?", such a simple question, yet on days like these, it weighs more than I can carry, and words fail me.

I’m honored to share with you writings by Ali Altawil,Ali Tawil, MD, a general practitioner working at the Al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital in the heart of Gaza. In times of turmoil, finding beauty amid the ashes of destruction gives the soul space to breathe. In the darkest of times, we

How much time do we have left? No one truly knows, Time reveals none of its cards, and fate speaks no secrets. Perhaps mere moments, perhaps years… or maybe more, or even less. But one truth remains: "What remains, diminishes."

How can I leave this large prison? When you realize you no longer belong to it, and that staying in it kills something within you without setting anything free ...

I can no longer endure the wait; time itself has grown unbearably heavy.

The dream of staying has begun to fade, and the dream of leaving rises on the horizon… As if the soul has come to know that stillness is a slow, delayed death, and that leaving, though painful, is life itself when life begins to suffocate ...

Leaving begins not with doors, but with truth. A quiet, stubborn truth that whispers: “You deserve more than survival.”

How powerless this world has become…!

Every moment of silence here is a postponed scream. And every passing day is another lifetime stolen from me without permission.

We are the ones history does not write about, but who write life each day, in the script of memory, with fingers trembling from exhaustion.

Don’t dress our struggle in words like resilience and heroism. We don't have any choice but trying to survive, moment by moment. Because here, death is the only thing that never leaves.

How did the universe not tremble when they called out nine names, and none of them answered? How will she go on to heal others, when her heart has shattered nine times?

"The Survivor" No one in this world can truly imagine this scene. Not an artist, not a poet, not even those who have lived through wars. Only the children of Gaza and its people know it. They carry its weight in their hearts, and it repeats before their eyes every time night

“In Waiting for Oblivion” Waking up every morning here does not necessarily mean you are still alive. You might be nothing more than a memory of life, dwelling in a body unseen by anyone… but yourself. Like a ghost with no shape, no color… no echo. And it doesn’t necessarily

I'm again honored yet deeply humbled to publish poems and essays by Ali Altawil, a doctor working in Al Aqsa Hospital in Gaza. This poem, Fragrance of Memory, is the second in a series. His words are powerful, a soulful elegance expressing an experience beyond comprehension of

Ward… seven years old, or seventy! My language betrays me when I try to write you, for my tears outrun the pen in your elegy, O little one, so vast in your being… And though I know they stole your childhood, burned your family, and dimmed a dreaming star in your eyes, still ..