(Remembering the murdered journalists in Gaza)
The last time
They buried me
Under the rubles
With my eyes closed
Dragging my belongings
Over my head
Closer to my face
I knew the rockets
Fired upon my home
In the middle of the night
Precisely addressed with
My name, my location
My deeds, my fights
My truths, my oaths
They knew it so well
I’ would keep on debunking
Their lies, their sin
All those false narratives
With precise timings
Dates and hours
With documentation, proofs
They had no idea
Even a thousand deaths
Could never ensure their pretexts
Burying me and others
Under the rubles everyday
Wouldn’t be enough
To hide the Holocaust
©NilavroNill 16th April 2024
NilavroNill Shoovro
poetnilavronill 