Another day in Palestine

My clothes hang,
as if  the fabric or the needle
could unravel my shadow,
as if  the warmth of the night
would shorten my breath
and a late "ah" would fall from my lips 
like a soothing sleep.
but we don't sleep, there is no warmth 
in the air, no fabric for the dead,
my clothes are torn to pieces,
 My daughter clings to my waist
as if I were the Equator of the world,
or a compass that wisely determines the north,
the south.
But they are  killing  us, my love,
I can't shield you under my skirt,
I can't silence the bombs,
the missiles
I can’t stop the murderous hand
roaming free
and before the day breaks
with a muted clamour,
a silent scream
might steal our lives.
 I cannot redeem your tears
slipping through my fingers,
If I raise my hands to the sky,
stare at the smallness thing 
it's because it hurts inside, my child.
In Jabalia, the Israeli army has broken the earth,
craters so deep,
I couldn't see the gleam of 
a thousand  birds, 
nor the falling rain,
neither their nest
they were of such vibrant colours,
feathers of gold,
scent of jasmine, olives,
bread, wheat, songs
well-born men, and women.
My child, you want to take me home
among the rubble, into
the lifeless streets with
skeletons as roofs, and
desolation as food,
I have nothing left but a wild,
unburied scream and you 
squeezing my hand
and my heart burst.