Yellow birds fly into the sky

"Dad, Mom."

The sky was clear, as bright as my father's smile when he held my hand. The little yellow bird that used to play in our yard chirped merrily. I climbed up on an old wooden chair, trying to reach the bird like dad used to do.

"The bird is very fast, Dad," I said with a small laugh.

Dad smiled, stepped up to me, then deftly he shook the twig on which the bird was perched. The bird flew, circling over our heads, then perched on the lower branches.

"You're better," I said admiringly. Dad laughed and rubbed my head gently. "The birds love to play. Just like you."

I liked the Pomelo. It tastes sweet and refreshing, and its large size always impresses me. I picked the fruit from the tree in the back yard. He carefully peeled off the thick skin, then cut it into pieces. He took one piece and handed it to me.

"To your little friend," he said, pointing to the Yellow Bird now standing on the wooden fence. I smiled broadly, took the orange slice, and slowly fed it to the little bird.

The bird pecked at the orange fruit with gusto, as if it were very hungry. I looked at him in amazement, feeling happy to see him enjoying my gift. "He's happy, Dad," I said excitedly.

"Yes, he is happy. Just like us today" " dad replied while looking at the vast blue sky.

However, the happiness did not last long.

Suddenly, a rumbling sound shook the Earth. I fell off the chair, my little body crashed to the floor. Black smoke rose into the air, covering the blue color of the sky that was so beautiful. Screams were heard everywhere, filling the air with an eerie panic.

"Dad! Mom!" I screamed with all my might, although my voice felt suffocated by the enveloping dust. Dad appeared from behind the door, his face full of sweat and blood on his temples. Quickly, he grabbed my hand.

"We have to go now!" he said firmly.

I can only follow, my steps dragging, my eyes looking for a mother figure among this chaos. "Where is Mom, Dad?"I asked, almost crying. Dad didn't answer. His face was tense, his gaze kept watching the sky which was now filled with the sound of planes and loud bangs.

We ran to the shelter, a small basement at the end of the village. But the sound of another explosion stopped our steps. Closer this time. Very close. I only had time to see dad protect my body with his own body before everything went dark.

When I opened my eyes, the world had turned into a nightmare I had never imagined. My body was hot, stinging, and throbbing; burns adorned my skin, leaving unbearable pain. There was no longer a clear blue sky, no house in which I took refuge, and no mother's gentle voice calling me with love.

All that remained was scattered debris, the pungent smell of death, and destruction as far as the eye could see. I tried to get up, but my body trembled, weak as if about to collapse again. My little feet stepped limply, through the ruins of what had once been my home, searching for familiar faces.

Every step was heavy, every breath was choked by the dust and smoke that filled the air. I called out, "Dad... Mom..."but only the echo of my own voice answered. A deafening silence enveloped the world around me.

I fell among the rubble, hugging my trembling little body. Tears poured down, mixed with dust on my cheeks. I stared up at the gray sky, hoping that this was just a nightmare that would soon end. But the smell of death was real, the burns on my skin were real, and the devastation around me was a harsh reality I couldn't resist.

"Dad, Mom?"my voice is quiet, my voice is barely audible. However, as before, there was no answer.

I tread carefully among the ruins, trying to make sense of a world now turned into a sea of sorrow. People passed around me, walking expressionlessly, their eyes empty like Lost Souls. They looked like shadows, moving aimlessly amid this destruction.

My little legs ached, hurt by broken glass and scattered stones. I bit my lip, holding back tears as the pain ran through my body. Around every corner, I saw scenes that broke my heart—bodies lying lifeless, some I still remember their faces. Neighbors, friends, even people who often smile at me, are now part of this eerie silence.

In the corner of a rubble, my eyes caught something familiar. That little yellow bird, my little friend. His wings were broken, his tiny body was dirty, full of dust, yet he was still breathing, struggling to live. I crouched down with trembling hands, holding her slowly.

Tears fell nonstop as I hugged the little bird tightly. "We are the same, aren't we?" I whispered in a trembling voice. "We are both wounded, but we are still alive."

The bird does not chirp. He just looked at me with his tired little eyes, as if understanding the grief I was carrying. In the silence that enveloped us, I realized that there was nothing more I could do but stay—for me, for her, and for all the memories that still cling to these ruins.

I held her carefully, my tears streaming down. "Why did they take mom and dad?"I whispered to the bird, my voice was hoarse. But the bird was silent, just looking at me with its small wistful eyes.

Days change, but the shadow of that day continues to haunt me. Every loud noise makes me jump. Every night I had nightmares—mom's screams, dad's bleeding body, and the rumble that shook the ground. The little bird stayed with me, even though its wings could never fly again.

I often look up at the sky that is now always Gray, hoping that one day I can fly like My Yellow Bird, leaving all this behind. But I know, my wings, like his, have been broken forever.

In the ruins of what is now my home, I understood one heartbreaking thing: this pain may never go away, but I had to keep going. Even though they are gone, I want them to know—every step of the way, I carry their love, tucked deep in my heart. Until one day, I hope to see them again, in a place where peace is eternal.

War never leaves honor.

War has never brought true victory.

Only wounds remain, and memories crumble with dust.

1948–2024

Based On A True Story.

This prayer I send to my friends in Palestine-those who survive in the rubble of dreams, remain steadfast despite the silence of the world.

From the land that was taken away to the lives that were taken away, your stories are engraved in our hearts, even though we cannot repay them with Justice. Every cry, every tear, and every prayer that rises to the sky bears witness to a struggle that never fades.

To those who long for peace under grey skies, who live in the shadows of colonialism, we never forget. Your stories are not just numbers in the pages of history, but lives that speak, demanding the world to see.

Today, we pray that your struggle will be given meaning. So that justice, which often feels like an illusion, ultimately becomes a reality. Stay strong, my friends. In the silence, there was a supportive voice. In the dark, there is hope.

May peace, one day, truly be yours.