When the slaughtered children of Gaza
Leave their mangled, crushed,
Shredded, dismembered bodies
They become little brown birds
That flit and fly all about
Among the ruins
That were once their homes
And their schools and neighborhoods.
When the massacred children of Gaza
Fly above the snipers
Whose bullets punctured their hearts
And shattrered their skulls
They chirp their songs
Of carnage and slaughter
But the snipers claim that they cannot hear them.
When the murdered children of Gaza
Perch on debris near a tank
That repeatedly ran over them
Until their bodies were little more
Than puddles of gore
They sing of mechanized murder
Of flesh pulverized and liquified
But the tank crew claim
That they cannot hear them.
When the annihilated children of Gaza
Come upon squads of infantry
Who used them as human shields
Who tortured them and mocked them
Who took their toys as souvenirs
To give to their own children
They chirrup sad melodies
About the death of the soul
But the soldiers claim
That they cannot hear them.
The snipers, the tank crew, the ground troops
Do hear the little brown birds
The singing pierces them to their core
Where their humanity once resided
But which is now inhabited by nothing
Except the heartbreak and horror
Of the songs of the little brown birds.
