I would write to you of cranes dancing in the snows of Hokkaido, but fathers are bleeding in the flour of Al-Kuwaiti roundabout. A different dance of reds and whites. The cranes gather in groups, so do the fathers and brothers and uncles in Gaza in the late hours of the night, moving through the dark in search of flour, a search that has now become a daily “Flour Massacre”.
Charades
Charades
Charades
I would write to you of cranes dancing in the snows of Hokkaido, but fathers are bleeding in the flour of Al-Kuwaiti roundabout. A different dance of reds and whites. The cranes gather in groups, so do the fathers and brothers and uncles in Gaza in the late hours of the night, moving through the dark in search of flour, a search that has now become a daily “Flour Massacre”.