THE THREE DEAD BOYS IN GAZA

Their eyes open,

their mouths open

in the surprise of death,

small bodies side by side

torn by shrapnel.

They went off

to have an adventure,

to show the defiance

of thirteen-year-old boys

against the guns

behind the barbed-wire

and the fence, the buzz

of drones in the sky.

In this world of oppression

there can be no adventures

against evil adversaries

like in the boys' books,

suspension, threat and victory

against all odds. In this world

there was a man or a woman in a uniform

who gave a command, there was

a drone, a missile

and an explosion. There was

 a tear on a cheek in darkness.

Soldiers firing at ambulance crews.

There was no return in the first light of dawn

with clapping of shoulders and laughter,

evil and terror of the night cast down.

There was the return on stretchers,

under white blankets, in darkness.

There was death,

eyes that looked but no longer saw,

mouths open that could no longer utter a scream

for all the pain of that moment

that brought death

from those who fly the drones

to kill young boys in the night.

30.10.2018