This is the old man that israel hit.
This is the leg that belonged to the old man that Israel hit.
This is the shell that cut off the leg that belonged to the old man that Israel hit.
This is the tank that fired the shell that cut of the leg that belonged to the old man that Israel hit.
This is the Israeli-Russian blondie with broken Hebrew that pulled the trigger of that tank that fired the shell that cut off the leg that belonged to the old man that Israel hit.
This is the Israeli soldier shaven and shorn that made fun of the accent of the Israeli-Russian blondie with broken Hebrew that pulled the trigger of that tank that fired the shell that cut off the leg that belonged to the old man that Israel hit.
This is the officer tattered and torn that had a bet with that Israeli soldier shaven and shorn that made fun of the accent of the Israeli-Russian blondie with broken Hebrew that pulled the trigger of that tank that fired the shell that cut off the leg that belonged to the old man that Israel hit.
These are the sons and daughters and relatives and grandchildren and relatives who almost lost a loved old man that Israel hit by a tank shell fired by an Israeli-Russian blondie with broken Hebrew who pulled the trigger because she got teased by the Israeli soldier who made fun of her accent because he had a bet with the officer whether when angered she pulls the trigger or not.
This is our destiny that we cant escape , and this is the atrocity shown to the whole world which has nothing to reacte with but bloody silence
Sad! I guess you already know how talented of a person you are so I am not going to praise the beauty of this article. I am just sad that it had to be your relative… or a Palestinian… or an innocent for the matter. Why can’t they just shoot themselves up :@
touche !
It is very sad… what Gaza must live through. A tribute to the mothers of Gaza…
Sunset is a woman.
Sad, alone and brave,
she holds the dying sun
in her arms every evening
and after the sun has breathed its last
she tiptoes away unseen
unnoticed to the far
beyond where other brave women
wash the blood of shot-down sons
from white sheets and warm pillows
at taps that have remained
unbombed by rockets from the
north. Then all these sad, brave
women put their heads
together and pray.
For missing sons.
For dead sons.
For sons they lost to bullets
and bullets .
They mourn
and pray for
one sun that
will not set in blood
one day.