bixby, some crayons and the eyes of a little boy
They came at night, woke up the little boy, to arrest his daddy
A brave man, gentle man, who just dreams of a future. For his people.
A future for his son. Sunshine not hidden by walls. Walls of greyness around his son.
His eyes like olive. Olivetrees hurt.
A Palestinian daddy.
Just a Palestinian.
That's his crime.
When they come at night
When they bang at doors
When some play with selective memories
Only thinking of their own navel
Their own suffering
And learning nothing, nothing
Nothing from the past
Like letting books, history books, burn.
