Every evening, as the sun leans toward the horizon, it stretches its arms across the sky to embrace Gaza. No separation walls, no piles of rubble, and no silence from the world can block that tender light.

The sun, like a sorrowful mother who knows the pain of the children in the Strip, returns every day to gently pat the tired shoulders of the city and whisper in its ear: "I’m here, I won’t leave you alone."

Beneath the rubble… life grows. Gaza, the city that refuses to die, receives the sunlight as a message of hope amid all this devastation. Despite the siege, destruction, and the constant moans, she opens her shattered windows to the warmth descending from the sky.

How many times has electricity gone out, water been cut off, and medicine lost its way? Yet the sun has never abandoned those narrow alleys. It walks across the ruins and lights up the darkness.

The policy of fire and walls. Tel Aviv’s policy besieges Gaza from all directions: starving it, restricting its movement, and targeting its small dreams. Schools are bombed just like homes, and the sick are denied travel for treatment. Nothing in this city moves like in other cities — except the rising and setting of the sun. With every new dawn, people rise despite their fear. They breathe pain and continue their lives, as if they have grown used to standing on the front lines of fire.

Children… their eyes reflect the sun. In the faces of Gaza’s children lies the reflection of a sun that never betrays them. When you look into their eyes, you see a light that cannot be extinguished. Despite the roar of warplanes above them, they play among the rubble, chase kites, and draw suns on the walls of their camps — as if it were the last bridge between childhood and the world. These little ones know only one truth: the sun always returns, even when justice is late.

The promise of light cannot be broken. Gaza — besieged by politics — still believes in light. It is as if the sun itself stands at the border every evening, watching the world’s silence and blushing at its helplessness. In its embrace, moments of cold and fear are buried and hope is born. Only the sun knows: Gaza does not need pity, it needs justice. And until that day comes, the sun will continue to hold her each day, because Gaza, despite everything, still beats with life.