By JOHNY GUIMARÃES*
under the morning dew
scorched by gunpowder,
the roses of Jericho
bombs hammering gas,
mutilated bodies in the streets.
on TV, audience explosion
in solitude, the old Palestinian
and his last piece of bread.
Outside, the autumn wind blows
also in Gaza
where there is crying in the houses,
the moon bathes the rooftops
me in my room
clinging to the cell phone
and bombs falling on gaza
daily revolt:
Palestinian children
with stones in hands
the old dry tank
frogs no longer jump.
in it, explosive flowers
in the old dry tank
frog skeletons.
in the sky, fat bombs
black clouds of flies
over the rubble in Gaza.
What are you looking for?
night of bombing in Gaza
and God remains indifferent
to count the dead
in the sad Gaza Strip
bomb explosion at home
children in paradise
in Gaza the moon illuminates
the little girl's steps
who searches for his parents in the rubble
hi! Hi! Hi! of the mouse
about the dead child.
a mockery of war?
Open-air cemetery.
from above, the pilot
see the dead man in the rain
*Johny Guimarães is a documentary filmmaker, poet and historian.
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