Ballad of the Starving Children
(Of Gaza)
By Abdul Asad
In Gaza’s night, so cold, so wide,
A girl named Noor lay down and cried,
No food, no light, no lullaby—
Just mother's sob and father’s sigh.
Her sister Hind, just five years old,
Was found beneath the ashes cold.
She clutched a piece of bread so tight,
She died still hoping for a bite.
Sweet Duniyah slept in her father’s chest,
A final lullaby for her rest.
The bombs had stilled her tiny breath,
A cradle turned to dust and death.
Another child lay near the stone,
No voice, no pulse—just dust and bone.
No toy remained, no gentle hand,
Just silence in a shattered land.
She said, “I saw my sister burn.
She screamed for milk, none could return.
The bombs don’t care for baby's name.
We’re numbers now in hunger’s flames.”
Young Yazan held a flag of white,
But found no mercy in the night.
He died while shielding sister’s head,
A child’s last act before he bled.
A girl named Layan wiped her tears,
She said, “They bombed us in our fears.
My sister screamed, her dress on fire—
She called my name, then sank in fire.”
Their home once danced with jasmine breeze,
Now crumbles under shattered trees.
No window left, no roof, no bed,
Just dust and silence for the dead.
The world stood still, or looked away,
While children wept in lightless day.
They asked not much—just air, just bread,
But silence answered them instead.
The UN passed another vote,
While Gaza sank like a paper boat.
The world looked on through shattered screens,
And fed on headlines, not on screams.
“Oh, where is Allah ?” the hungry cry,
As breath grows faint beneath the sky.
But faith still flickers through the grief,
A dying child's last stubborn leaf.
A doctor weeps, his gloves are red,
No beds remain, just floor for bed.
One child still breathes, her eyes half-closed,
Her ribs like cages, fingers froze.
They found her near Al-Shifa's gate,
Where tanks once came like hands of fate.
She whispered, “Mama went to sky—
Please let me go, I want to die.”
Another day, a girl drew bread,
With crayon stubs, her stomach dead.
Her drawing made the nurse collapse.
She'd drawn a grave and called it "snacks."
A boy named Ahmad had lost his feet,
He said, “It’s fine, I cannot eat.
Why do I need to run or play,
If I won’t see another day?”
And still the air denies their breath,
And still the soil collects their death,
The olive trees have ceased to bloom,
The wells run dry beside each tomb.
O world so proud with banquet spread,
While Gaza’s children beg for bread—
They ask not much, just life, just light,
But stars won’t shine on them tonight.
They speak in sobs, in sighs, in moans,
Their diaries just etched on stones.
No toys remain, no songs, no books,
Just mother’s cries and stranger’s looks.
Will no one come? Will no one rise?
Will justice wear its blindfolded eyes?
Or shall we write their names in sand,
While they die holding out their hand?
So let this poem not end in ink,
But stir the soul, compel to think.
For every line, a child has bled—
And sleeps tonight… unfed, unsaid.
— Abdul Asad
India
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