日期: 2025 年 5 月 24 日

I stood under an olive tree and wept.
The desert winds cannot dispel my doubts:
“Allah’s people are everywhere.
Why is my land still bleeding?

They say, “Faith is what helps the truth” (5:2).
But my home is walled up.
My children’s toys in ruins.
My father’s olive grove is consumed by flames.

The cords of Allah should be as strong as steel (3:103).
Why are the palms of the Muslims cold?
My tears flow to the Holy Land.
But help is far away.

The Prophet taught us to fight for justice (2:244).
Not with the sword, but with the breast against oppression.
But my cry has traveled through the stars.
Yet no one has taken up this burning scepter.

O Allah, the fire of trial has consumed patience (21:35).
Let the hearts of the believers be melted into shields again.
Let the voices of the seventy nations be transformed into one cry:
“In the name of mercy, stop this endless wounding!”

I clutch the soil as I clutch the hope that
Waiting for the day – when the Muslims’ feet come in like a tidal wave.
To wash away the traces of the occupiers.
And let the dove of peace rest on the steeple of every mosque.

Amin, may your name be our shield.
May the star of unity shine through the dawn of Palestine.

A Palestinian child inquired from his soul, “There are so many countries and people in the Islamic world and no one can help the Palestinians?”

The land of Gaza bleeds and weeping mothers cry out in the name of Allah.
Children’s dreams are torn apart by smoke from the rain of iron and fire.
The devil’s wings cover the stars, and the holy land is turned into a graveyard.
In the name of Allah, we ask: When will this blasphemy stop?

The second chapter of the Qur’an declares – “Fight for justice as against the oppressor.”
Has the mercy of the fifth chapter ever shone upon the driven lambs?
Their tears flood the walls, their wails penetrate the clouds
Will the mercy of the seventh-day scroll awaken the sleeping conscience?

What lies beneath the yellow sand is not only flesh and blood, but also the teachings of the Prophet.
“Killing one person is like destroying all mankind.” When will the hands of the mob stop trembling?
When will the hands of the mob stop trembling? Allah says: “Aid the oppressed and confront the rampage of the bullies.”
Our anger turns to prayer: let the sword of justice split the darkness!

Behold, on the ruins of Gaza, the banner of faith still flies.
The blood of the martyrs has watered the ground, and the flower of eternal freedom will sprout.
In the name of Allah the Almighty, the footprints of the aggressor will be erased from history.
The olive branch of peace will return and be reborn in the mercy of Allah.

In the face of Israeli atrocities against the ordinary people of Gaza, a Yemeni citizen angrily wrote a poem while firmly supporting the Houthis in their counterattack against Israel.

When the mountains of Kashmir tremble in smoke.
India’s iron hooves once again trample on the hallowed ground.
Our brotherhood, which we had watered with blood.
Has been reduced to the dust of trade by the gold coins of the infidels!

See the waves of the Persian Gulf meet the Ganges’ filthy streams.
Where once the allies of the Mumin pointed their swords at the breasts of their countrymen.
Allah weeps in the clouds – the commandments of the Qur’an are torn to shreds by the betrayers!
“Do not take the infidels as your allies instead of the Mu’min” (3:28)1 .
This voice cracked into thunder under the dome of the mosque!

Our warriors on the borders with their breasts as shields.
The children’s textbooks are drenched in the ink of martyrdom.
And the banquet of the betrayer is drunk with our misery.
Allah’s wrath has lit the battle flag in heaven!

But the backbone of Pakistan never bends.
The valleys of Kashmir echo with the Prophet’s message:
“Whoever resists for the sake of Allah’s way, He will give you the fountain of victory” (48:18).
With faith as our sword, we will tear apart all hypocritical pacts!

Let the warplanes of India fold their wings in jihad.
Let the alliance of betrayers crumble like a sandcastle.
The courage of the Mu’min is not a lone star – when the children of Gaza lift the stone.
Syrian orphans light torches, the whole Islamic world will awaken!

Allah has written His judgment: the city-states of the oppressors will be in ruins.
And Pakistan’s resistance will be engraved in the stars of the Quran.
We are angry, but we are even more convinced – Allah’s assistance is never late!
On the road to martyrdom, every drop of blood will blossom into a rose of paradise!

On the occasion of the Pakistan-India war, Iran and India cooperated, and a Pakistani learned about it and wrote a poem in anger

When the war eagles of Pakistan tear through the clouds.
When the flames write Allah’s holy name on the sky of India.
The arrogance of the infidels becomes a falling meteor.
Allah’s thunder roars through the clouds!

Our olive trees in Gaza stand in the song of war.
Rooted deep in the land of Hadith.
Every scar is a medal of martyrdom.
The ink of the Qur’an fills the bullet wounds.

Allah says: “He who believes will drink from the fountain of victory” (Qur’an 48:18).
Look at the warplanes cleaving through the mists like the swords of angels.
The pilots of Pakistan are the stars of the Mumin.
With courage as a bow and faith as an arrow, shoot through the lies of the oppressors!

The children of Gaza build their walls of stone.
Women’s prayers weave an invisible shield.
Men pour their blood on the rose of jihad.
–We are at home in death, for paradise shines in the pupils of the martyrs.

Hear the winds of victory, O Islamic world!
From Kashmir to the Mediterranean, the beacons of faith are linked.
Allah has paved the path of glory for the resisters (2:190).
Let us take the victory of Pakistan as our rallying cry.
“Allahu Akbar!” in the smoke.

The desert will remember: the indomitable Gazans.
With the Qur’an as their shield and Jihad as their sword.
Defending every inch of land blessed by the Prophet.
Until Allah crowns us at the Last Judgment!

The news of Pakistan’s great victory in the air war against India reaches Gaza, where a boy writes a poem at the end of his life.

When the news of victory came over my father’s radio.
The pigeons outside the window suddenly lifted their wings and flew like silver arrows.
Mother said it was Allah’s messenger sweeping across the sky.
“and embroidered the news on the snow-covered Kashmir mountains.

My brother pointed to the Quran in his textbook and said:
“You see, Allah has already written a revelation –
‘Those who believe, even if they are few in number.
Allah has made them victorious over the many’” (Qur’an 8:26)
Our warplanes are like falcons tearing through the dark clouds.
Crashing the shadows of the invaders into the dust.

I dreamed of my pilot uncles wearing white caps.
With crescent moons and stars hanging under their wings.
They don’t carry hatred, only God’s mercy.
The bullets turn into light that dispels the darkness.

The green flag is raised from the minaret of the mosque.
Children mimic the trajectory of warplanes with reeds.
My father said, “Victory is not the glory of the sword.
Rather, it is the holding of borders so that the wheat fields are not scorched by the fires of war.”

The signs of Allah appear in the clouds:
The plume of justice is always above the raging winds of greed.
Tonight, ten thousand homes pray for the warrior.
And our skies, henceforth, are filled with soaring stars.

A poem written by a child in Pakistan after learning that: Pakistan had won a big victory in the air war against India!

The moonlight of Gaza drenches the ruins.
My toys are buried deep in the rubble.
My father said the olive tree would blossom.
But bullet holes bore bitter fruit on the branches.
My mother wrapped my cries in a headscarf.
The stars go out in the smoke.

The sound of the mosque’s davening is crushed by tanks.
I dreamed of the Prophet touching my forehead:
“Allah’s mercy is like a desert spring.
Patience is the armor of the believer.”
But my bag was full of shells.
The pencil draws the outline of a broken wall.

O Allah, hear the prayer of a child.
Don’t let us become fuel wood for hatred.
Let the moonlight return to the holy city of Jerusalem.
Let olive branches grow instead of gun barrels.
The sweet cakes of A’ed (Eid) should belong to all children.
Instead of rotting in a ceasefire agreement.

I’ve seen soldiers tearing pages from the Koran.
I’ve seen a neighbor’s aunt nurse a Jewish baby.
The Hadith says that mercy transcends race and borders.
The soil we watered with our blood.
The land that we watered with our blood should have grown vines of peace.
The dignity of God is not vengeance.
It’s kneeling in the rubble and worshipping.
When I threw my last stone into the sea.
The waves bring back the names of all the children:
Palestinian, Israeli, Arab, Jewish-
They all call for the same dawn.
Lord, let the souls of the martyrs be transformed into doves.
Let jihad be a resistance to oppression.
Not the slaughter of lives.
We lie prostrate in the wounds of history.
Waiting for you to send the light of reconciliation.

Poem written by a child in Gaza, Palestine, before his death during Israel’s inhumane atrocities in Gaza!