Three Palestinian boys I see

But I can feel just two not three

Perhaps something is wrong with me

Because in the boys in front of me

There is always one extra he

You see,

Three Palestinian boys left home;

The only survivors.

They were all alone.

Their house now just a mass of stone;

Another tragedy they were shown

They wear their father’s big clothing,

Yet they weren’t grown.

They were young

But their eyes no longer shone.

They were three Palestinian boys

Covered in soot;

Three little stems

Ripped out of root

By guns and bombs

And men in suits.

Three Palestinian boys

Had no food

And if you look at their feet

They were barefoot.

Three Palestinian boys

Can’t cry.

Their tears were eaten by gas

Or drank when there was no water nearby

And before they could even say goodbye,

The oldest one was shot to die.

Two Palestinian boys

Lose a brother.

His father imprisoned

And he joins his deceased mother.

He died before crossing the border

And the sky wept when they told her

For it did not matter if he was strong or older, (stronger? sentence parallel)

He wasn’t much bigger than a toddler.

And the sky’s tears

Just left his body colder.

Three Palestinian boys

One dead,

Left in the streets

With a bullet to his head.

Three Palestinian boys under the moon:

The remaining two

Will also leave soon

Stolen by a fingered wind

In the middle of June.

Three Palestinian boys

Were none by noon.

Three Palestinian boys I see

But I can feel just two not three

But when I look into their eyes I see

A third Palestinian boy

And he is me.

My blood and tears

Spill into the red sea.

Three Palestinian boys

Is we.