There is the green of the trees
While a child bleeds on the street.
Alone,
There is a kite in the sky.
It is the kite which was with that child.
In the sky
Our sky,
Flying with its colors:
Red,
The blood.
Black,
The dark future.
White,
The children’s wings.
And, green,
Paradise.

The Zionist can see
The child
And the kite.
The Zionist who killed that child.
There are lots of stars
In the sky:
Our sky.
And, they can see the child.
And the kite.
And the Zionist.

There are mornings,
And nights
And more children like that child.
More and more,
Not just the kite,
There are more things left behind:
Bread.
Water.
Food.
Toys.
Spoons.

There are birds
And beats
From the children’s hearts.
Hearts without beats
Bodies without heads
Words without tongues
Eyes without scenes…

In the sky.
Our sky.
Our air.