No Peace Without a Voice

I sit in a place with peaceful skies,
Where children laugh, no one cries.
Where bombs don’t fall, and streets are clean—
But I still carry what I’ve seen.

I sit as if I’ve never run,
As if I’ve never lost someone.
Like war and fear are far from me—
But they still haunt me silently.

I left the land that once was home,
Where smoke replaced the sky’s blue dome.
I’m safe—but guilt still finds a way,
It lives in me, day after day.

They say, “Be quiet. Don’t take a side.”
But how can I with truth inside?
I saw the pain, I heard the sound,
I watched as buildings hit the ground.

I’m a Jew. I say it clear.
But that name now brings hate and fear.
Not for my faith—but for the state
That uses history to spread hate.

They call us strong. They call us proud.
But many of us are not allowed
To speak against the things we see—
Or we lose friends, or family.

Mother, do you still recall
When we ran through smoke and fall?
How I cried and held your hand
While fire tore apart our land?

Now I sit and watch the news,
And all I see are lives we lose.
But when I speak, they turn away.
They say, “It’s not your place to say.”

But if I’m silent, I’m to blame.
I wear the shame. I feel the flame.
If I stay quiet, then it’s true:
I let the bombs fall too.

Palestine is not a word
That’s spoken loud or truly heard.
And many Jews just look away
Because they’re scared of what they’ll say.

I’m not perfect. I’m just a man.
But I will speak. I know I can.
Because the truth must have a voice—
And silence is a kind of choice.