In Gaza, the names of the martyrs slip through silence, lost to a world too distracted to listen
I see her now, but not in the way I have always seen her—through the lens of service, of duty, of roles—but as a woman whose edges were softened long before I learned her name
In a world spun from the threads of chaos, we are born into a tapestry of shadows. We are shimmering maidens in the night, nurturing within us a fire both subtle and strong. Yet, the air around us is heavy with whispers–danger and desire intertwined.
The hush of dawn and the whispered breeze,/ that caresses nature's resting face
In Gaza, the names of the martyrs slip through silence, lost to a world too distracted to listen
I see her now, but not in the way I have always seen her—through the lens of service, of duty, of roles—but as a woman whose edges were softened long before I learned her name
In a world spun from the threads of chaos, we are born into a tapestry of shadows. We are shimmering maidens in the night, nurturing within us a fire both subtle and strong. Yet, the air around us is heavy with whispers–danger and desire intertwined.
The hush of dawn and the whispered breeze,/ that caresses nature's resting face
