There are moments when words feel not just inadequate, but insulting.
We live in an age of constant information, where images of profound suffering flash across our screens, only to be replaced by the next headline. We see the statistics, we hear the political analysis, but it is all noise. And beneath that noise is a silence, the silence of a mother who has no bread to give, of a child who has forgotten the sound of laughter, of a world that has chosen to look away.
This song was born from that silence. It was born from the images that haunt us in the quiet hours: the "white dust in the air" that is the powder of a life's belongings, the "empty bowls and hollow eyes" that speak of a famine used as a weapon.
How do you write a song about that?
You don't write it to be clever. You don't write it to be poetic. You write it to be a witness.
The lyrics for this song are an attempt to give voice to the plea that is ignored. They are about the human-level reality of Gaza, a reality that is not about politics, but about pain. It’s about the "crumbling stone" of a home, the "stolen key" to a past that can never be reclaimed, and the "pouring pains" of a present that feels like a cage.
Music cannot stop a bomb. It cannot fill an empty bowl. But it can be a witness. It can refuse to let history be sanitized. When the song speaks of the "world looks on, or turns away," it is not just an observation; it is an accusation. It is a question posed to every single one of us.
It was essential for me to include the Arabic verse in the chorus. It is not just a translation; it is the song's heartbeat. It is a declaration that even when the plea is in a different tongue, the pain is universal.
This is not just a song. It is a record. It is a refusal to let the "silent cry" fade into the background. It is an echo of the dream that persists even when "walls close in" and "dreams are cut", the simple, profound, and non-negotiable dream of freedom's dawn and dignity.
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It is very difficult to witness all the horrible abuses Palestinians endure day after day, but we must not look away. Your music is not only a salve to help our broken hearts, but a cry to action. It is us, the citizens of the world, that need to speak. Rimbiana's music has been a driving force in my advocacy for Gaza and supporting the humanitarian aid. While viewing Seeds of Tomorrow, I was driven to erect a memorial in my yard, dedicated to Hind Rajab and the 18,500+ children that have been killed. We will never give up fighting for the peace, welfare and dignity of Palestine. Not until Palestine is free. No Justice, No Peace. p.s. I LOVE the use of Arabic when featured in these songs. So haunting and beautiful...