a holy night

A holy night

Along a broken wall, dead children lay a few minutes
ago they have been sitting in basements somewhere
playing hide and seek, when bombs found targets,
those who do tally said 500 infants were blown into the air
like rag-dolls on a festive day.
The guilty ones of this atrocity blamed the terrorists
who were hiding among the people on a piece of land
overcrowded to breaking point.
In a hollow sat 500 women whose grief was darker than
the night, a sorrow that would, in time, turn to
to pity
at night, the infants arose and walked to where the foe camped, but when seeing them, the soldiers fled, fearing
for their life, as one cannot kill ghosts.
500 tanks, the enemy left behind with guns pointing
the town they had bombed.
The children climbed the tanks, turned the turret the canons pointed to Knesset in western Jerusalem.
The mothers of the infants stopped them from firing, not wanting their offspring to learn to be hateful but grow up and believe in love and brotherhood.