In the shadowed sands of Gaza, where the sun beats down like judgment,
Children with hollow eyes and swollen bellies cry out in vain,
Their bodies wasting, bones protruding – a famine’s cruel indictment,
Starvation stalking the streets, claiming lives in silent pain.
Elders collapse mid-stride, strength devoured by hunger’s maw,
Mothers feed maggot-riddled lentils to keep some spark alive,
No bread, no clean water, just echoes from a world that saw
And turned away, lest truth disrupt the lies that help them thrive.
A siege of borders sealed, aid trucks idling in the dust,
Restrictions choking hope, as deliberate as a blade,
Hospitals tally deaths – ten souls a day, turned to rust –
From engineered despair, a genocide in blockade.
Yet voices rise in halls of power, cloaked by careful words,
“Political correctness” shielding guilty hands from glare,
Denial blooming like thorns: “No famine here, absurd!”
They cry, equating truth to hate, abandoning the desperate there.
To name the starvers, call out the supremacist hand,
Is branded heresy, anti-this or that – forbidden plea –
So silence reigns, complicit, across this watching land,
While Gaza’s people fade: true victims of propriety.
O world of polished phrases, where outrage is policed,
Break the chains of fear, let justice’s fire ignite.
For in the name of “correctness,” humanity is fleeced,
And Gaza’s starving souls dissolve into the endless night.
