Blood on the breakfast tables!

Minutes before the call to prayer, signaling the start of the fast, martyrs were killed and dozens were wounded, most of them children and women, in a square in Nuseirat that had been designated for communal iftar meals. Meanwhile, the takayas were bombed, mixing blood and body parts with the soup in a scene that shook the soul to its core.

Fasting people spent the night on the edge of the desert, tents were drenched in the blood of victims, and the wounded breathed their last in their beds, enduring pain and suffering due to the hospitals' lack of life-saving supplies. Whoever is wounded dies, and the daily count is in the dozens.

For twenty-five days, no aid has entered, and those who have money have found nothing to buy, because everything is missing from the markets. Not even a loaf of bread is available, nor is a sip of water.

People are dying of fear, terror, starvation and intimidation. They are dying in queues for missing bread, and they are dying on whatever soup the poor can get at tables set up by charitable people whose charity is almost exhausted as the supplies for charity run out. The Gazans are facing their fate. In six days, more than seven hundred of them have died and hundreds have been wounded.

Perhaps more deadly than killing is the silence that the world has resorted to, along with the Arabs and Muslims who gathered for two consecutive summits, where they ate delicious food, before the gathering dispersed with a statement that was trampled under the treads of tanks, before its ink had even dried.

“You have no brothers, my brother, no friends, you have no water, no medicine, no sky, no blood,” said the late Palestinian poet during the siege, when the mask fell off the mask, as if the prophet of poetry had inspired him with what was to come.

Stop the genocide now...!