Lament of Gaza (Noha-e-Gaza)

First, we were hung on the cross of hunger,

We were made to yearn for every single drop of water.

And then, when even the air stopped taking refuge in our bones,

We were lined up in ration queues.

Neither called citizens, nor humans,

But a target, to be pushed and buried in the dust of humiliation.

When a bag of flour by chance came into our hands,

A bullet piercing the chest said:

"This was not in your destiny, it was part of my gun practice."

Israel deployed its young soldiers

In the streets of Gaza.

There was no clash with any enemy army,

Nor was there any military trench,

It was just an innocent child

Who was killed in search of bread.

And then, with joy, a pat was given on the shoulder:

"The target was hit perfectly!"

This is the training ground where human life

Is just an exercise in target shooting.

Where hunger, thirst, and standing in line

Have become both the crime and the punishment of the Palestinian.

O Sky of Patience!

When will those tears rain now,

Which will break upon the earth as gunpowder?

O Silent Ummah (Nation)!

Is your sleep

Cheaper than a bag of bread?

Does the locked eye of your conscience

Not even open at these un-shrouded corpses of Gaza?

We are dying,

But not just bodies,

Words, sighs, screams!

And laments are also being martyred.

What remains is only the gun,

And its aiming target…

On the chests of Palestinian children.