the Gaza coastline, Al-Rashid Road stands as a silent witness to the pain of a city exhausted by war. Once a lifeline that connected the sea to the homes and people to hope, it now lies in ruins. The sea itself whispers with deep sorrow, brushing its salty fingers against charred stones and dreams extinguished beneath the rubble.

The waves, which once carried the voices of fishermen and the laughter of children, now embrace destruction. They crash against shattered stones as broken as the hearts of the people, then retreat to wash the dust from the city’s memory — as if trying, in vain, to breathe life into it once more. In every rising wave lies a story of loss, and in every ebb, the sigh of a mother waiting for someone who will never return.

Shadows Guard the Place

The air is heavy with the scent of ash and salt, and the collapsed buildings cast long shadows at sunset, like ghosts guarding the ruins. Barefoot children walk among the debris, gathering shards of glass — not to play, but to build a window that opens toward tomorrow. From afar, the call to prayer rises from a mosque that has lost its minaret, blending with the sound of the sea — a scene that captures the essence of survival.

Despite all this devastation, a hidden pulse runs through the place. Women share bread with weary smiles, men stack stones to make shelters, and the sun rises every morning as if insisting on reminding them that life, no matter how broken, never dies.

And at the end of the road, where the rubble fades into the horizon, the sea extends its hand to embrace the wounded city. It is as if the waves whisper, “Do not be afraid — I am here. I will wash your wounds every evening until the sand blooms again.”