Hunger

I am haunted
I am haunted by the children of Gaza.

As I look into their eyes
I remember my being
a child so long ago
a child in pain,
the searing pain
of hunger.

I remember
my trembling hand reaching
for a piece of that slice of bread,
the one slice of bread per day,
and then rolling that piece
into a tight little ball,
a ball of maize and sawdust,
to savor that little morsel
for as long as it would last,
postponing the return
of that gnawing agony
in my young body.

I remember
eating the watery soup
made from potato peels
the occupiers had left outside,
a bucketful of potato peels
to be tossed away.

As I bestir myself
returning to the present,
to leave the pain,
the hopelessness behind,
I hear soft rain drops on the roof:
the sky is weeping.

I again feel the sadness
and the despair
of these children
in that country far away.

I implore us,
all of us,
to find peace and forgiveness
in our hearts
so that we may not betray
the trust and innocence
of all young lives entrusted to us.

Their Future, and ours,
depends on us.