Gaza Night

Tonight, like many ordinary Gaza nights,
there are wounded babies,
toddlers, and children
who will sleep on the loneliest and coldest beds
in the world.

Scared and alone,
many sitting clueless in crowded hospital wards,
with nobody, absolutely nobody,
to look after them.

They're neither hungry nor thirsty.
They're just full,
full of emptiness.
Forever bereaved.

Many others silently sleeping,
lifeless, under the rubble,
not necessarily waiting to be found.

Tonight,
there will be no bed colder than a tomb
holding the mutilated tiny body of a Gaza child.

There will be no lonelier corner
than the empty arms of parents who lost their children.

In Gaza, it's unlikely that you'll ever smell anything but the stench of death.

In Gaza, the grass is not greener on the other side,
and tomorrow is not another day.