A Love Letter, Struck By Bullets —dalan Jahan Poem by Dalan Jahan

When he sleeps,
children scribble the death of dreams.
In the crimson embrace of their god, every bullet blooms into celebration.
Bombs rain down on Gaza's flesh,
a bloodstained moon hangs above the gas chambers.
From the demon's tongue,
black anacondas hiss.
The earth rewrites itself— a long epic that worships the rifle.
Boots swallow the prayers of the silent dead.
In Hebrew and Arabic,
the walls weep and whisper
— which bunker hides humanity today?
You've forgotten,
Netanyahu— this poem is a love letter, pierced by bullets.
And how long does God stay awake
to the sound of your gunfire?

Dalan Jahan
30.06.25