There is nothing after the night but the dawn of glory that rises!

The night of Gaza became long and drawn out, and lowered its curtains with all kinds of worries to test him, and stretched out until it became distant with all its burdens, as came in the description of the pre-Islamic poet Imru’ al-Qais, when he said to his friend who cried when he saw the path before him: “We seek a kingdom or die and are excused.”

The night of Gaza passes with heavy steps between the announcement of the ceasefire agreement and its entry into force. It freezes like children in displacement tents, and the hands of the clock stop in it, and we rush to embrace it with the appointed time at 12:15 minutes on Sunday.

The night of Gaza reaps our souls, devours our hearts, tortures us with its length, and subdues us with the weight of its movement. It is a night unlike any other night that passes, to be followed by another after a bloody day.

It is the night of the tortured, the night of those crucified on the stakes, the night of those waiting impatiently for the end of the raging genocide.

Despite the bleeding wounds and the pain of suffering, we cling to hope and certainty in the inevitability of the victory of truth over falsehood, the homeland over occupation, and the prisoner over the jailer.

As we await the cessation of the massacre tomorrow, and the embrace of our children emerging from behind the curtains of darkness in the cemeteries of the neighborhoods, no matter how far the distances between us, and how different the opinions, and how varied the assessments and descriptions, and how diverse the destinations and orientations, let us repeat together: “After the night there is nothing but the dawn of glory that rises!”