No Headlines Left

Genocide doesn’t need a headline, only apathy to thrive.

When burning hospitals

become ash beneath the scroll of a screen,

we learn how silence

is weaponized.

The floors of Kamal Adwan

are charred with absence,

oxygen tanks left

like forgotten promises,

the cries of mothers

smothered by rubble

and the indifference of men

in air-conditioned rooms.

Genocide doesn’t need

a headline,

only apathy to thrive—

only a world too tired

to care where the phosphorus falls

or who it devours.

We have learned to speak

in muted tones,

to swallow outrage whole,

to call it complicated

when children die.

The world nods

as the ash settles,

as though the flames

were never lit.

What remains of Kamal Adwan

is not a hospital,

but a tombstone.

And what remains of us?

The smoke,

rising into silence.