Sweatheart,
you were feeling safe at home…
They sent a bomb on to your heads with your parents,
your face covered with blood,
and your body with soil and rocks…
I'd have found and stopped them,
before this crime was committed,
But I couldn’t…
Your bright olive eyes are open,
Your milk-smelling mouth is full of soil.
I would dig you out of dirth,
hug you and kiss all the limbs of your body
that are hurt to soothe the pain…
Who did this?
How come they could do this to you?
sweatheart…
Zekai Ozgun
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-the-baby-martyr-of-palestine/
