30 July 2025
By Publisher Ray Carmen
There are cries so raw, the sky forgets how to echo them.
And in Gaza, those cries live and die under the weight of rubble, hunger, and a grief so ancient it shatters language.
This is not a war.
This is a siege. A slow annihilation.
It is the systematic suffocation of a people whose only crime is existing on land others covet.
And the world,our “civilised,” globalised, latte-sipping world,watches.
Scrolls past.
Wears neutrality like a badge.
The Cauldron of Cruelty
Hospitals are bombed.
Markets turned to morgues.
Families reduced to numbers in sterile news tickers.
Children born into blockade.
Their lullabies: drones and sirens.
Their playgrounds: the remains of yesterday’s “warning strike.”
There is no exit. No shelter. No safe zone.
And yet somehow…
They still live. They still hope. They still sing.
They grow mint in shattered teacups. They draw sunrises on ruins.
Because that’s who they are.
Not victims.
Survivors with steel in their veins and faith stitched into their breath.
“I suppose the Good Lord is scared to cry,
In case His tears flood the whole world.”
Maybe He’s not scared.
Maybe He’s waiting.
For us.
To stand the hell up.
To use our words, our platforms, our voices,not just in moments of outrage, but consistently, until silence itself becomes a betrayal.
Not in Their Name
It must be said: Not all Israeli people support this. Far from it.
There are families in Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, and Haifa weeping too,mourning the future their leaders are burning.
There are Israeli soldiers refusing to serve.
There are Jewish activists chaining themselves to government buildings, marching with signs that read:
“Not in our name.”
“Occupation is not our Judaism.”
“Gaza deserves to live.”
But their voices are buried,drowned out by the machinery of power, smeared as traitors, silenced for daring to stand with the oppressed.
It takes courage to speak up in a storm, and they do.
They are not the enemy.
Silence is.
A Final Reckoning
This is not about politics anymore.
This is about humanity. Or the collapse of it.
And to the architects of this horror, to those who trade lives for land,
here’s your warning:
"Don’t f*** with truth."
It remembers. It resurfaces. And it will write your name into history with a scarlet pen.
To Gaza:
We see you.
We hear you.
We will not look away..
