In a moment, morning turned to a haunting dream,

The sound of rockets, not birds, became the scream.

Eyes wide open, my sister's voice echoed with fear,

Not birds but missiles cast shadows, bringing them near.

They approached our sanctuary, as we took shelter within,

My father held fast to the door, but their might would win.

Brave Mayan, stepping forth, went to lend a hand,

A gunshot silenced her voice, and she fell upon our land.

My father, a pillar, crumbled in despair,

Mayan's essence painted on him, a sight too raw to bear.

They entered, proclaiming, "we do not harm the young,"

Yet I cried, "Why, then, is my sister among the unsung?"

Throughout the day, they occupied our space,

In that horrid span, they only saw my face.

Words can hardly capture the dread we endured,

Yet Mayan's memory lives, her spirit assured.

Though I yearn for her presence, her laugh, her song,

The void remains, the pain lifelong.

(In memory of Mayan Idan)