I came across the work of Muhammad Moussa through Gaza Poets Society (@gazapoetssociety), and I haven’t been able to look away since.

There’s something about poetry in places like this. It doesn’t decorate the moment. It records it. It refuses to let it be erased.

When everything else is taken — homes, safety, certainty —language becomes one of the last places a person can still exist fully. Still be seen. Still be remembered.

We cut the arts first, as if they are optional. But when the world fractures, it’s the artists people turn to. To make sense of what feels unbearable. To name what is being lost in real time.

These words are not abstract. They are written from inside a reality most of us will never fully understand.

And still, we are responsible for how we witness it.

Not to look away. Not to reduce it to a headline. Not to let it disappear into noise.

We are not separate from each other. Not really.

If you feel something reading this, let yourself feel it. That’s where awareness begins. That’s where humanity lives.

We are not free until we are all free.

꩜ Ella​​​​​​​​

Free Palestine 🇵🇸