llustration of A Poetry Anthology “LAMENT OF THE WIND OVER GAZA”: Editor – Leni Marlina. Image Source: SuaraUtara.com for LM’s Poems No. 01_05112025
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AT THE EDGE OF HEAVEN’S BREATH
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Poem by Leni Marlina
The sky had no time to close its eyes
when the earth slipped
into the screams of children.
The air trembled—
like a womb that lost its pulse.
Dust carried scorched names
and whispered them
as the final call to prayer of that day.
Gaza, you are not a city—
you are the divine artery
that beats within the body of humankind.
The wind that passes your crown
is an ayah shivering,
searching for its meaning.
We heard the stones speak
with tongues forged from fire,
calling the names of mothers
who gaze at the sky—
voiceless,
sunless.
Even the sun knelt down
at the feet of night,
its eyes swollen,
watching the earth bleed.
There, words lost their meanings,
prayers lost their addresses,
and God—
let a single particle of light
wander through the chest of time,
healing the wounds
into a new shape of hope.
And we knew—
as Gaza breathed beneath the ruins,
the earth was rewriting
the meaning of humanity.
Padang, West Sumatra, 2025
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THE LAMENT OF WIND OVER GAZA
Poem by Leni Marlina
Do you hear it—
the lament of wind over Gaza?
Its voice is like the ragged breath of earth
breaking against the ribs of the sky.
Do you see it—
the heavens reddened by ancient wounds,
clouds dripping blood of light,
and the sun, with tearful eyes,
watching the earth
like a mother
who has lost her child.
Prayers scatter
from the womb of the ruins,
seeking their way home to heaven,
pleading loss and fate
to God.
Gaza breathes faintly,
like a needle of light
sewing the chest of time;
its breath writes again
the meaning of courage
amid the ashes.
The soil too speaks
with tongues of fire and tombstones,
reciting the names of innocent children—
slain without cause,
by tyranny wearing
the mask of genocide.
The moon bruises
at the temple of night,
its rays falling
like tears of metal.
And the sun—
once the world’s warmth—
now trapped in a cage of smoke,
glows dim,
stares hollow.
Among the ruins,
a small body clutches the air—
searching for its mother
within the echoes.
Dust upon the cheek
becomes the script of sorrow
the world never fully reads.
Olive trees weep without tears,
their branches embrace the wind
blackened with ash;
their leaves fall
like letters never sent
to a merciful sky.
Time cracks like glass,
its seconds drop
into the gaping chest of the earth,
and their chime—
is the sound of prayer
caught in the throat of heaven.
Yet amid the explosions,
something endures—
a light,
small as a particle,
screams: “I am still here.”
And the world turns its head
for a fleeting moment,
then sinks again
into the sterile glow
of its screens.
Gaza,
you are not mere soil—
you are the pulse of the earth,
a verse written
in the blood of stars,
a witness that even wounds
can become
a sacred language
to call upon God.
Padang, West Sumatra, 2025
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VERSES ACROSS THE SKY OF GAZA
Poem by Anies Septivirawan
Translated (Indonesian-English) by Leni Marlina
No matter how bitter the hours,
No matter how dark the nights,
No matter how jagged the edges of your life,
Poetry must be sown—
Etched upon the scroll of time
Where each breath leaves a mark.
No matter how deep the sorrow,
No matter how raw the wound,
Verses must rise and speak,
Like air above the skies of Gaza—
So it is when I read your words,
Across a restless heart,
Yet lit by flickers of distant lights
From every corner of this fractured world.
There are hands, millions of them,
Forever reaching, weaving
The shattered threads of human hearts,
Stitching torn hope
Upon the sacred soil of Palestine.
I, a mere shadow among shadows,
Stand between dusk and the first prayer of dawn,
Witnessing thousands of words
Afloat on ships of truth,
Breaking through the gates of patience
In a land where two-legged beasts wander.
I bear witness:
Gaza is the cradle of prayer,
Prayers born from the womb of wounds,
Wounds long tempered in fire
That now rise unbroken, unbowed.
I and the world bear witness:
Palestine endures, sovereign, free,
Its spirit untamed
Until the final breath of time.
Situbondo, East Java, October 2025
——
About the Poet: Anies Septivirawan(PPIPM-Indonesia, PPIC, SatuPena Jatim, KEAI, etc)
Anies Septivirawan is a devoted admirer of literary and cultural arts. He has been passionately writing poetry since 1995 and remains steadfast in his creative journey today. He is a member of the Himpunan Penulis Penyair dan Pengarang Nusantara (HP3N) in Kota Batu and SATUPENA Jawa Timur.
Born in Dawuhan, Situbondo, East Java, Anies spends his days as an online media journalist. For him, writing is more than an act of expression—it is a sacred ritual to release the body’s negative ions, keeping the spirit healthy and the soul alive.
He has published three solo poetry anthologies, while his poems and essays have also appeared in numerous collaborative collections, including one alongside Indonesia’s renowned writer, Gol A Gong.
His first solo anthology, “Luka dan Kota Sepi Literasi” (Wounds and the City of Silent Literacy), reveals the loneliness and yearning within urban life. The second, “Menimang Rindu Senja Kala” (Cradling Dusk’s Longing), contemplates the gentle ache of nostalgia and time. His third, “Dua Senja Menyulam Damai” (Two Dusks Weaving Peace), reflects his pursuit of harmony amid the world’s unrest—an affirmation of his belief that poetry, in its quiet resilience, is a path toward peace.
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DO YOU HEAR THE CRIES OF PALESTINIAN CHILDREN?
Poem by Fathur Rahmi
Translated (Indonesian-English) by Leni Marlina
Do you hear it—
the weeping of Palestinian children,
echoing through the ruins of dusk?
Do you hear the hunger in their cries,
their bellies pleading
for a drop of water,
a crumb of bread,
beneath a sky heavy
with dust and prayer?
Do you see their homes turned to ash,
their walls swallowed by fire—
until they must take refuge
in Rafah’s trembling tents,
where the wind carries
daily news of loss?
Do you witness how life slips away—
by tens,
by hundreds,
by thousands—
souls falling silent
for one sacred word: faith?
Why are they oppressed?
Why cast out from their birthland?
What crime have they done?
What sin have they borne?
They endure—
for belief,
for Al-Aqsa,
the first Qibla of the faithful,
the sanctuary now bathed in blood and sorrow.
My friend,
have you heard the tales from Gaza—
of stones that speak,
of sands that whisper,
of winged soldiers of light
guarding them through the blackened night?
And have you smelled
the fragrance of the martyrs,
smiling as they meet paradise,
while the world turns its gaze away?
Allah is pleased with them,
and they are pleased with Allah.
My friend,
shall we still buy branded clothes,
polish our pride with costly bags and shoes,
or dine beneath chandeliers—
while there,
Palestinian children
fast in fear and hunger?
Open your eyes.
Open your heart.
Let your hands become bridges of mercy.
Send love,
send your giving—
for at the end of every charity
shines a light
leading toward the same heaven:
Palestine.
Payakumbuh, West Sumatra — September 28th, 2025
———
About the Poet: Fathur Rahmi(PPIPM-Indonesia, PPIC, SatuPena Sumbar, etc)
Fathur Rahmi was born in Payakumbuh, Indonesia, in 1986. He completed his studies in the Department of English Language and Literature at Padang State University in 2010. During his university years, he was actively involved in literary discussions and creative collaborations within the Forum Lingkar Pena (FLP) of West Sumatra.
Today, while lovingly raising his three children, Fathur Rahmi also dedicates his time to teaching English at SMP IT Darussalam and PKBM Kembang Delima. Beyond poetry, he explores the realms of folklore and microfiction—crafting stories that weave together cultural memory, faith, and the quiet endurance of everyday life.
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WHEN GAZA RAISES ITS BODY
Poem by Leni Marlina
After all the prayers have burned,
the sky lost its voice—
even its colors fell
from the pupils of its own sorrow.
The clouds turned into ash,
and angels began to write in the air
with ink made from
the last breath of children.
The clock upon the chest of the earth stopped beating;
time wandered among the tombstones,
carrying silence
like a stone burden
on the spine of humankind.
The moon fell from its throne—
its crack, the fracture of the world’s bone.
Its blood became a river
that flows into the dreams of those who pray,
not knowing
to whom their prayers finally arrive.
Among the ruins,
olive trees embrace their own shadows;
their trembling branches
like wombs that have lost the direction of birth.
Leaves fall, one by one,
becoming small letters—
letters that never reach heaven.
Yet Gaza—
with its fractured bones and breath of stone—
raises its body.
It gathers light from shards of glass,
weaves breath
from dust and flame,
and from the fissures of its pain
a whisper is born, small as the pulse of light:
“There is no death,
only the changing of breath
within the chest of the living universe.”
And the world—
watching from behind its screen
with cold fingers and vacant eyes—
does not know
that Gaza has become
a new form of prayer:
a prayer walking without a body,
seeping into the veins of humankind,
awakening the conscience
that sleeps behind
the comfort of numbers and electricity.
Now, the wind carries
fragments of names unburied—
and raindrops mingle
with the tears of children
who gaze at heaven
with questions
and hope.
And beneath that sky—
Gaza stands,
like a poem refusing to die,
reciting the world
with its own blood.
Padang, West Sumatra, Indonesia, 2025
——————-
About the Author: Leni Marlina (UNP Padang, PPIPM-Indonesia, PPIC, SatuPena Sumbar, KEAI, ACC SHILA, ASM, PLS)
Leni Marlina, born in Baso, Agam, West Sumatra, and currently residing in Padang, is a poet, writer, and lecturer. She has been an active member of the writing organization SATU PENA West Sumatra since 2022 and participates in various online literary communities. Her recent publications include bilingual poetry anthologies such as The Beloved Teachers, L-BEAUMANITY (Love, Beauty, and Humanity), and three volumes of English Stories for Literacy.
Since 2006, Leni has devoted herself as a lecturer in the English Literature Study Program at the Faculty of Language and Arts, Universitas Negeri Padang, inspiring generations of students for nearly two decades. Beyond academia, she is active as a freelance writer, editor, and contributor to local, national, and international media, with her poetry widely accessible through Suara Anak Negeri News and other digital platforms.
Believing in writing as a medium for sharing and inspiration, Leni founded and chairs several digital social, literacy, and literary communities, including PPIPM-Indonesia (Indonesian Poetry Reading and Writing Community), Poetry-Pen International Community (PPIC), Literature Talk Community (Littalk-C), and EL4C (English Language Learning, Literature, and Literacy), bridging literature and literacy across generations.
In recognition of her literary dedication and contributions, Leni was awarded the Best Writer 2025 by SATU PENA West Sumatra at the 3rd International Minangkabau Literacy Festival (IMLF-3) and received the ACC International Literary Prize from the President of ACC Shanghai Huiyu International Literary Creative Media Centre.
Baca versi bahasa Indonesia : RATAP ANGIN DI ATAS GAZA: Antologi Puisi – Editor Leni Marlina – Suarautara.com
