Eyes, Void of Life: A Poignant Reflection on the Tragedy in Gaza
Was he a day, or a week old? And was the baby 'he' or 'she'? What difference does it make? It was a baby, an infant who had, perhaps not even tasted a morsel of solid food.
When was he born? Who are his parents? Where are they? Are they alive? Or died with him? Or died before? Did he even have a name? Could he see his parents and siblings? Unanswered questions cascade through my thoughts.
All that can be seen is his little face, an open mouth with toothless gum, dry lips, a dimpled chin, and a straight nose. And, of course, his eyes! Half-open, tired, without hope, AND DEAD! Those eyes, that once, would have been bright and shiny at birth, darting from one object to the other. But now, it is so painful to see them. They are so poignant. Once you see them, you won’t be able to forget. And you shouldn’t! Those eyes should keep us awake. Because we have been witness to those eyes becoming lifeless! They demand attention, a lingering reminder of our impotence in preserving that spark.
I hope the mother preceded the infant in departure. Pessimistic, yes. How else could she bear to witness those luminous eyes dimming, life slipping away?
May those eyes torment the oppressors, robbing them of sleep. May the haunting gaze be an eternal companion, a relentless memory of lives extinguished. May those who orchestrated this demise never escape the haunting image of silenced voices, like this baby, who never uttered a single word.
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