DUST

The world is small; even if it is big, it is small …

It looks like the football that camp children* play with, kicking it around and running after it.

Our children bear no resemblance whatsoever to the crazy soldier who throws round bombs at them which pollute the land and kill mercilessly.

This land has suffered for thousands of years from war without end, devouring children, peoples, the natural world and the very air we breathe. The crazy soldier draws near to the children carrying his bombs, and the frightened children run to hide among the trees – the trees, who are afraid, too.

The child cries when the tree runs away from its shadow: the tree doesn’t know what to do with its branches and its leaves scattered to the four winds  …

But the child runs along with the tree, carrying his friend the tree’s dream. The children whisper in a voice full of fear : “Has the sphere of the world turned into a cube?” … “Are we going to roll off the earth?”… “And where will we land ?!” 

The children ask these questions and flee from the gaze of the crazy soldier, running away to nowhere …

All wars are dirty. No one on earth can say he has seen a clean war, and no one ever will… One war gives birth to another, and the crazy soldier is forever chasing the child; at the same time, the child feels he is the stronger.

Even when war has disappeared offstage, and the air becomes possible to breathe again, the soldier and the child still both breathe in the dust of war !

* Palestinians who were refugees in the events of 1948 and 1967 and their descendants live in refugee camps in the Gaza Strip, as well as in Lebanon, Syria and Jordan.

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