Gaza: A Story of Struggle, Written in Lines of Will and Dignity

At the end of each day, when the sounds of bombing quiet down a little, and whispers of fear rise in the hearts of Gaza’s residents, the sun appears from behind the destruction, as if it has come to say something that words cannot express.

The sun sets behind the rubble, not to escape the scene, but as if extending its arms to embrace those buildings that no longer recognize their own shapes—embracing them with a warm tenderness no being on this wounded earth could offer.

The sun does not fear tragedies, nor does it shy away from pain—it draws closer. With its weary light, it gently brushes the remains of the walls, caresses the shattered windows with sorrow, and glides over the collapsed rooftops like a mother searching the ruins for a missing child. In those moments of sunset, Gaza does not seem alone— It is surrounded by a celestial being trying to make her feel that she still exists on the map of light, and that despite the isolation, she has not been forgotten.

As if it knows—this sun—how many exhausted souls await a touch of warmth or a glance of mercy. The hungry child knows that sunset may not bring bread, but it brings a glimpse of beauty—something war cannot kill. And in that silent embrace between the sunlight and the remains of the city, There is a sudden serenity, A moment that softly whispers that pain has an end, and that every long night must eventually be defeated by this very sun.

Perhaps the sun cannot stop the bombing, nor erase the hunger, but it keeps showing up—like someone clinging to a strange hope in the midst of despair. Its daily presence is an unspoken promise: “I will return tomorrow, and I will continue to light this land, no matter how much darkness tries to engulf it.” In its silence, there is a voice of hope; And in its fractured light upon the stones, a plea—that life not die in hearts the way it has died in buildings.

And Gaza, that city that has learned how to live among the ruins, receives the sun every evening as if it were a final embrace before a long night. An embrace that cannot stop the pain, but gives it a hint of meaning. In that golden embrace, the humanity of the entire universe takes shape—in a moment that seems to say: “I am with you, if only with my light.”