Buffer zone – the killing fields of Gaza
The old woman has seen enough sunrises to wrinkle the earth her skin has the memory of trees her head used to balance jars of fresh milk when the fields were still open when her feet treaded bare on homely land and the livestock were still alive grazing on the horizon. Today her face resembles her house pockmarked with bullets yet standing her ground under the sun feeding sheep hay and imported food pellets keeping an eye on the barren horizon where life once thrived and her soul will forever wander. --- We had wells over there now spitting blood in our violated fields we used to walk till the trees now where there is a razor sharp desert feeding barbed-wire colonies foreign bodies in terrorised outfits; you know I could love them, I swear I could I would call them by name and hand them fresh mint and some cheese even from behind a wire fence but their hands are all occupied gripping their heavy guns handcuffed to fear. --- They greet us with gunshots from behind a smokescreen they just don't get it it's us greeting them in our house. As they run out of bullets we run out of patience.