Salama, Suha, Karim, Alaa, Raghad, Shahd, Abdulrahman, Khamis, Hanaa, Aya, Habiba, Obeida, Layan, Mohammed, Ali… These are not just names; they are a cry against a world that watches death unfold without blinking.
It was not just one person killed—it was an entire generation wiped out.
At a dawn that knew no mercy, the earth embraced them for the last time before the sky carried them as martyrs—five stars ascending in succession: Mohammed, Tareq, Lana, Aya, and Wateen—siblings in birth, siblings in departure.
The sky was not silent; it whispered their names, telling their story to the winds, scattering it among the sands and olive leaves, until they became a recited anthem.
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It was not just one person killed—it was an entire generation wiped out.
At a dawn that knew no mercy, the earth embraced them for the last time before the sky carried them as martyrs—five stars ascending in succession: Mohammed, Tareq, Lana, Aya, and Wateen—siblings in birth, siblings in departure.