Poem for the Children of Gaza

by Michael Rosen

January 15, 2009

In Gaza, children,
you learn that the sky kills
and that houses hurt.
You learn that your blanket is smoke
and breakfast is dirt.

You learn that cars somersault
clothes turn red,
friends become statues,
bakers don't sell bread.

You learn that the night is a gun,
that toys burn,
breath can stop,
it could be your turn.

You learn:
if they send you fire
they couldn't guess:
not just the soldier dies -
it's you and the rest.

Nowhere to run,
nowhere to go,
nowhere to hide
in the home you know.

You learn that death isn't life,
the air isn't bread.

The land is for all - you have the right to be not dead.
The land is for all - you have the right to be not dead.
The land is for all - you have the right to be not dead.
The land is for all - you have the right to be not dead.