A Poem for the Mothers of Gaza
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By Palestinian poet Iqbal Tamimi
https://wanderingfoodie.com/sanfords/ Give me time https://pindercooling.com/t7g9w02gvo3 By Palestinian poet Iqbal Tamimi
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Gaza gave birth
Her pavements smiled with red roses. Buy Tramadol Without Prescription Online
Her children were shepherds of the morning dew Buy Tramadol Online Overnight Shipping
She became pregnant with hope https://medical-royal.com/rhinoplasty-pack/
But the conspiracy targeted her womb
Now her mothers are terrified
Wrapping their children inside their sighs
With bleeding hands https://medical-royal.com/smart-ablation/
They harvest the rockets’ neighs Buy Cheap Klonopin
Their cries Klonopin Online Order
Punctured the ear of hypocrisy Clonazepam For Sale
The shirt of justice was torn from behind
Tell me why?
Why does your sweeping hatred Buy Tramadol Next Day Delivery
Keep ordering the clouds of my eye to rain? https://chefandsteward.com/video/
Tell me why? https://reservarvuelos.com/servicio-al-cliente/
Why does the hand of death steal every child I have? http://citydebate.com/?p=1967
Will I ever find a seed of light in this darkness? https://wanderingfoodie.com/sanfords/
Merciless men wearing shiny shoes are sipping tea Clonazepam Online Buy
Discussing holiday destinations
Glancing at the screens of their TVs Klonopin Online No Prescription
Eating cakes, talking about sending more arms https://apsonlineacademy.org/trademark-information/
To maintain the rivers of blood
While my family lies crucified
I want to know
Why the stains of blood refuse to dry?
How many more waves are left in your sea,
aiming at breaking my buoy?
There isn’t any sadness left
That did not find its home in me
My tired heart is a wreck,
My paddles are torments and sorrows
I am tired of swimming against the current,
Hoping to reach the shores of human kindness
The salt in the tears of sobbing mothers
Ignites my open wound,
The smells of gunpowder, white phosphorus and burning flesh
Occupy my lungs
We are the mothers
Hugging the shadows of our children,
Who are no more flying kites
Searching under heaps of dust
Scanning empty playgrounds,
Kissing vacant beds,
Making daily trips, towards what used to be school gates … alone
Give me time to clean up your mess
The Limbs of my children are mixed with the clutter
Give me time to plead again
Give me time to sign another condemning letter
Give me time to forget what I miss
Give me time to empty the morgue
Give me time to bury another child
Give me time to tidy my cell
Give me time to dismantle your hell
Give me time to grieve
