Gaza, the dust, Poetry

Gaza, the dust, poem

Useless to compose among the lumps...

Poor conscience, humanity is dead

Hope is dead in the smoke

Screams and torment and that voice never came

And the caress never given to that child

Our garden will never bloom again

Don't invoke the sky anymore...

Because spring will never return

How the righteous King Arthur will come back

Sing, sing o nightingale!

Over our broken hearts

On the rubble and the disenchanted