In a narrow alley amid the ruins of shattered homes, the grieving women of Gaza stood draped in black, bidding farewell to those who, just yesterday, were their support, their hope, and companions in sorrow and pain.

Their faces were pale, hearts burdened beyond bearing. Their voices—soft and broken—seemed to rise from the depths of the soul as they whispered the names of loved ones now buried beneath the earth, without a goodbye, without a final kiss.

In front of a small grave hastily dug into land never meant to hold this much death, a mother sat on the dirt, clutching her child's garment—one she had washed with her hands only yesterday. Now, she wiped her tears with it, whispering in a hoarse voice, “How did they leave so quickly? They were here, sharing bread and sorrow with me, dreaming of a postponed tomorrow… and now, no dream, no story.”

Awaiting an unknown fate

The faces that once lit gatherings despite the pain have vanished. Only their photos remain, clinging to crumbling walls, echoing memories. The women of Gaza—those who have lived every shade of loss—no longer know if they are in a final farewell or bracing for yet another tragedy. Hunger surrounds them, leaving no space for grief; it gnaws at their souls in a deadly silence as they await an unknown fate.

And so, in the heart of catastrophe, farewell stretches endlessly—without mercy, without justice. Today, they say goodbye to those who once gave life meaning, knowing that tomorrow may demand yet another farewell. For in this corner of the world, life promises nothing but more loss.