Dust and Blood

When I saw them screaming in a Gazan dialect I was familiar with, from old neighbors: “I want my mother and my father”, the older child (about 9 years old) was carrying his little sister in his arms. I did not see the person they were addressing with their shouting. Was he hiding himself? We may cry. Yet, the eyes of the men of Gaza today are not focused on pouring out water, but rather, on being preoccupied with anger that sees nothing but victory. The scenes were hard for me to watch. Children from here and there, all of them, were covered with dust and blood, from top to bottom. They were all running there, where to?, they do not know where to! The two children kept insisting on asking for their parents; no other word. There was no expression of pain, nor dredging up of emotion... Then the big boy's eyes lit up with expressions that were interpreted by a new scream: “My brother. This is my brother. I want my brother”! We followed the scream to see another child, a little one, running in place, to go “over there…”, also covered in dust and blood. Who will relieve my weary eyes?