Where do the doves go when the bombs fall?
Into the grit and grey of skies
And swift to the mountains and the valley of tears.
Where do the mothers and children hide
When the screech of sirens burn bitter the night
And nowhere now, not a single light of hope illuminates the Gaza sky.
How is it that angels turn, and Holy weep you never learn.
All around the bitter hunger and winter of despair casts a shadow of endless night.
Inconsolable flung upon the blood stained ground. The truth does not even begin to penetrate the Zionist stone cold heart.
Where do the doves sing
When little children cry?
I pray the flitter and cooing
And gathering of Angelic wings
I dream of Allah, I dream of God, the first and last next breaths
Waking and watching
Believing in peace and the serenity of the doves above.