The butcher shouts from atop the pile of bones,
"Bow, or be buried!"—as if Gaza hasn’t already been turned into a graveyard with children’s names carved in the rubble.
The Defense Minister—a title soaked in irony and blood—dares to threaten annihilation,
but forgets: the soul of a people does not burn, even when their bodies do.
They’ve dropped bombs heavier than justice,
spoken threats louder than humanity’s cries,
and yet—Gaza breathes.
Through crushed lungs, broken walls, and shattered silence, Gaza breathes.
Annihilation?
They’ve tried since Nakba.
They've killed sons, erased cities, starved babies, but the spirit remains — sharper than their drones, braver than their iron domes.
You cannot annihilate what refuses to kneel.
You cannot wipe out a land carved in centuries and soaked in the blood of the innocent.
Every missile you launch writes your own epitaph:
"Here lies a coward empire, that feared stones, poems, and memory."
So threaten on.
For every child you silence, a thousand voices rise — not in fear, but in fury.
And in the ashes you leave behind, grows the seed of your own downfall.
History remembers conquerors as monsters, and martyrs as nations.
And Gaza? Gaza is already eternal.
by Fearless on X @UnitedByIK