470 Days: Unbroken

Words: Anas Al-Sharif
Poem: Phalapoem editor , 18/01/25

470 days of sorrow, of strife,
Yet we stand, unyielding, clinging to life.
Exhausted we are, worn and frail,
But our spirit endures; we will not fail.

I lost my father, friends, and kin,
Their voices echo where dreams begin.
All I owned, now dust in the air,
But I rise, unwavering, despair nowhere.

Threats like shadows, countless they came,
But our resolve burns brighter, untamed.
Displaced fifty times, yet still we fight,
Carrying hope through the darkest night.

Bombs fell, and pain ran deep,
Tears unshed for nights without sleep.
We lived in tents, humble and bare,
Yet found in hardship the strength to care.

Betrayed, besieged by near and far,
Starving under an unkind star.
We ate what little the earth could yield,
But never surrendered, never did we yield.

Now, as I write, unsure of the dawn,
My family’s shelter is torn and gone.
Still, I know deep within my chest,
We are unbroken, by God we are blessed.

For He is our shelter, our guiding hand,
The steadfast hope in this shattered land.
470 days, and still we proclaim,
We are unbroken. We remain.