Oh Gaza, Allow Me to Paint a Picture of You

Take the Gaza Strip, allow it to be your canvas,
Tilt the canvas a little away, from the sun,
Strip naked, the little stick figures,
So you can give them something to mourn and cry for.

Splash a little bit of determination on them,
Get a little cold-blood in the process,
Wear a thin layer of compassion,
And you might, just maybe,
Be able to kill them right,
As much as it pains you.

Build the picturesque scene of war,
Bring out the shades of debris,
Fill in the orange flames that continue to
Burn the scattered ashes of bodies,
Little children.

Dip a paintbrush into confusion and conflict,
Highlight the tears and losses of mothers,
Create a little more of the vibrant
Screams, then hold on

Mix in the browns and the reds,
So no one knows where the
Blood stops running, for it does not stop
But they can see it starts from the mothers

Draw in the blues,
Then watch them all laugh
Because they’ve cried much too much for the
Dead City

Finally, give it that finish touch,
Emphasis on despair,
All important,
In a child’s eye,
It’s the children that are suffering.