Beneath the pile of bricks and stones,
I find no toys, just blood, and bones.
My mother is 'asleep' with blood on her chest,
My father was martyred and laid to rest.
As this girl's eyes well up with tears, she holds on to them,
and continues her sad lament
My tears I must hold,
As I was always told.
Not to cry
Martyrs never die.
I may miss my toys,
And all childhood joys.
But no tears should fall from my eyes,
Which have seen broken promises and lies.
The Muslim Ummah and Arab land,
Had promised to hold my hand.
Left me alone for a 'Super Power'
Strength of Islam replaced by dollar's shower.
No Muslim or Ummah stretched its hand,
Just resolutions and protests to save our land.
As I stand clutching my doll,
I hear a shot and see it fall.
Broken in pieces, covered in blood,
My body bleeds, as I fall in the mud.
A Zionist Soldier with a smile on his face,
Says: "Takes more than prayers to win a race."