Puppeteers!

It would be so beautiful if a day like this
were the last,
Al Shifa Hospital has been massacred,
the beds do not tend to the sick,
or the wounded, nor to women in labour,
nor to broken ankles,
they contain only crevices,
traces of humanity,
a doctor riddled with bullets,
they left the sick to dry in the sun,
and in the gardens bodies overflowed,
they are not lilacs or carnations
nor begonias, nor hyacinths,
when you see the massacre in Al Shifa,
rage will slow you down,
pain will become moist like
a warming haemorrhage,
if you twist your hands,
if you tear out your hair
if you fall face down to the ground
and tears mix with the dead
it would be because
the wind has withdrawn,
the sun has fallen silent and
the air is a scream,
the Israeli forces are cursed puppeteers,
 manipulated by strings and
when they start to dance,
they break skulls,
 legs, throats,
women give birth death ,
children tell the story,
with the accuracy of a surveyor
tired of seeing.
May the cursed puppeteer die one day,
fall  from an abyss,
their mouths
 carelessly drawn
 be
silenced forever.