In the heart of Gaza, where war has turned homes into dust and silence has replaced laughter, a little girl sits alone. She is just ten years old—but the pain she carries is far beyond her years. Her father, once her protector and storyteller, is now a memory lost in the rubble of war.
This poem gives voice to her sorrow, her questions, and her hope that someone—anyone—will hear her. It’s not just her story, but the story of countless children who suffer in silence while the world watches.
As you read this, remember: behind every number in the news, behind every headline, is a child like her—waiting not just for food or safety, but for the world to care.
She sits alone on broken ground,
Where once her house stood safe and sound.
The walls are gone, the roof is dust,
The doors all bent, the windows crushed.
She holds a doll with missing arm,
Its face is black from fire’s harm.
She hugs it close and starts to cry,
“Where is my dad? And why did he die?”
He used to carry her every night,
And tuck her in, then turn off the light.
He told her stories, gave her hugs,
Now all that’s left are stones and bugs.
She saw him fall, she saw him bleed,
She screamed so loud, but no one heeded.
She touched his face—it felt so cold,
She’s just ten years, but feels so old.
The sky is gray, the streets are bare,
No food to eat, just smoke in air.
She sits and waits the whole day long,
Hoping someone will see this wrong.
“Is anyone watching? Can they see me?
Do they care about kids like me?”
Her eyes look far, beyond the sand,
She dreams of peace in another land.
“I don’t want toys or sweets or fun,
I just want war to be all done.
I want my dad to hold my hand,
And walk with me across this land.”
She waits for voices from afar,
For someone strong to stop this war.
She hopes the world will hear her plea,
And set her broken people free.
But still she sits on dusty stone,
A little girl, so sad, alone.
And in her heart, the question grows:
“Why does the world just watch and close its eyes to all my pain and cries?”
