Your starving legs never got tired
as they struggled and waited for what
you yearned - freedom - so elusive -
from omnipotent hunger - not so much
for you as for your daughters - all six
of them, them, your gems - and your
people . . . Your feet stepping
on shrapnel-riddled pavement
were like baker’s hands
kneading precious dough -

But the place is not one posh
Bread Avenue in one European
paradise - but in Gaza - where
reaching for life-giving bread
can get a father killed - by bombs
merciless - raining from the skies -
not gifts from the heavens
but brutal strikes from drones
eyeless, ruthless - AI-guided
Grim Reapers in one cruel war -
one genocidal war . . .