Genocide

The wire pulls tighter, and the weight of silence becomes almost unbearable. A storm of anger brews in countless hearts. A fire ignited by the unending images from Gaza, by the ceaseless tide of grief and loss. WTF! This is the kind of fury that makes you want to scream, to unleash a torrent of words so piercing they can't be ignored. Yet, that scream remains trapped in the throat. Fear wraps around it like barbed wire, fear of lawsuits, of reputations being tarnished, of organizations ready to pounce, twisting words into weapons.

People long to help. They yearn to act. They want to shatter the silence. But every step is scrutinized, every word measured, every gesture doubted. The barbed wire isn’t just a figure of speech. It’s an invisible chain binding those who witness the suffering yet feel helpless to speak out without facing repercussions.

Even governments can't reach a consensus on the term “genocide,” as if the choice of words holds more weight than the lives already lost. Their hesitation hangs in the air, a silence that chokes as much as it shields. So, the anger remains bottled up. It coils and tightens, growing heavier with every day of inaction, with each headline of devastation. The heart beats stronger, not from hope, but from the crushing strain of witnessing injustice while being paralyzed.

This is not peace. It’s the silence of fear, of caution, of knowing that to speak out is to risk everything, but to stay silent is to bleed slowly. Still, within that silence, the pulse endures. The wire may cut, the fear may bind, but the outrage refuses to fade. It exists in clenched fists, in restless nights, in eyes that refuse to look away. And one day, when the wire can no longer restrain, the silence will shatter, not as a whisper, but as a roar that the world cannot ignore.