For Gaza

No matter how deep we bury ourselves, the bombs still find us. The very earth shakes with an intensity we have never felt before. Our innocence cannot protect us. Our hopes cannot shield us. Our love cannot keep us alive. Our beliefs will not keep us safe.

We thought if we could just hide down here, deep in the earth, we would be safe. But we find that safety is an illusion we carry in our hearts, a feint memory of a time when the bombs did not fall. Families are torn apart. Children are torn apart. Bodies are torn apart till we cannot recognise where the parts came from.

And above all, the sounds. First a whistling, closer, then a thump and a shudder and suddenly, silence, the noise so loud our ears cannot hear anymore. Crying is useless. Anger is useless. In our pain we are dumb and deaf and speechless, so we scream.

And still the bombs fall. Perhaps they are sent in hate and in anger. Or perhaps they are sent by someone who no longer cares about anything, someone who, if asked, might say, I'm just doing my job.