The sky over lebanon darkened as the first Israeli jets roared overhead, their ominous presence signaling the beginning of another chapter in the long, painful history of conflict between these two nations. The bombs fell, each explosion reverberating through the streets, shattering the fragile peace that had barely held together in recent weeks. For the people on the ground, there was no time to think, only to react—to run, to hide, to protect their loved ones from the destruction that seemed to come from everywhere at once.

The world outside might call it "self-defense," but for those caught in the crossfire, there was nothing defensive about it. Homes, once filled with laughter and life, were reduced to rubble. The air, thick with dust and smoke, choked out any hope that this would be the last of it. The uncertainty, the fear—it was all too familiar. The children clung to their mothers, their cries drowned out by the distant thunder of rockets launched in retaliation.

Hezbollah, standing as the protector of a nation under siege, responded with fury. Hundreds of rockets, each one carrying the weight of a collective grief and anger, streaked across the sky towards Israel. The cycle of violence, once again, had begun to spin out of control.

For the families huddled in basements, listening to the roar of conflict above, there was no understanding of the grand strategies or political justifications. There was only the overwhelming question: How many more would die before this ended? How much more would be lost?

In this land, where history bleeds into the present, the cries of the victims were a haunting reminder that in war, there are no winners—only those left to pick up the pieces.
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Sindujaa D N

25/08/2024 12:59 PM