A father is walking in a large crowd
With his two little boys,
Holding each one by a hand.
They are on their way
To get food for their family
From the distribution point
Identified by Israel.
Like all little boys,
His toddler sons
Want to play with other children
They meet on their way.
But their father tells them
They must not dawdle,
They must not run about
Amongst all the other walkers,
They must not go where their father
Cannot see them.
Still, the boys act silly,
Teasing each other,
Throwing handfuls of dirt
Up into the air,
Singing nonsensical songs.
All at once
The air screams,
The people in the crowd panic
And begin running blindly
In every direction.
The boys grip their father’s hands
As tightly as they can.
There is an enormous explosion
That shakes the ground
And then all is silent.
Still holding their father’s large hands,
The two little boys lie on the ground,
No longer hungry,
Not wanting to run and play anymore,
Not wanting to make jokes
Or trick their friends.
Their father lies between them,
Unmoving in the reddening dust,
Not far from the distribution point
Identified by Israel.
