How Can I Wish You Eid Mubarak?

How can I wish you Eid Mubarak?  

Palestine is crying out:  
"Look at the slumbering face of humanity."  
Palestine is calling the Adhan:  
It echoes in the ears of conscience—  
Listen, listen—what call is this?  

No one has come—  
Not from the marble thrones of the Arabs,  
Not from the golden tongues of Persia’s envoys,  
Not from those courts  
Where the signboard of "Justice" hangs at the door,  
Not from those nations  
Who carry the torch of humanity in their hands.  

We all—  
Are silent pages of a diary written in blood,  
Bearing the weight of martyrs  
On the shoulders of silence,  
As if Gaza were a video game  
Where after "Game Over,"  
Everyone gets up to laugh and eat.  

We shut our eyes—  
But the screams  
Still float in the air,  
Crashing against the walls.  
Hearts?  
Like stone—cold, numb.  
Souls?  
Empty bottles,  
Ringing, echoing.  

A people  
Who only count bricks,  
Who only pray to survive—  
No cannons, no tanks,  
Just one day of silence.  
And we  
Couldn’t even give them that.  

And now?  
We debate over the Eid moon.  
What kind of Eid?  
When in the streets of Gaza,  
The bodies of children are writing a tafsir,  
When a mother’s hands  
Search for a shroud  
But find only dust,  
When every morning  
Wakes to the Adhan of explosions.  

In the world’s ears,  
Palestine’s voice  
Has become nothing but a mute echo.  
They speak of "balance"—  
Where on one side, there are cannons,  
And on the other,  
Just a child’s question:  
"Why?"  

The minarets of mosques  
Stand silent,  
Perhaps Palestine’s sighs  
Have become their only Adhan now—  
That call to prayer  
Which, even after hearing,  
We offer the prayer of oppression.  

This is not Eid—  
This is a certificate of our apathy.  
This moment  
Is a test of our faith—  
With what face can we say "Mubarak"?  
When the fireworks of our celebration  
Fall upon their rubble?  

This is not Eid—  
This is the shroud of our souls.  
And we?  
We are the killers  
Whose hands may be clean,  
But on whose faces  
Every drop of blood shines bright.  

I will not wish you Eid Mubarak,  
Do not wish me Eid Mubarak either—  
Until a mother’s prayer,  
A child’s smile,  
Or a martyr’s silence  
Awakens our conscience.  

Mykoul