A people gripped in daily trauma,
anguish, grief with swelling pain,
little children in pajamas, and
girls young with bloody stains.

In early dawn and morning light
news breaks heavy, dark as night,
it’s hard to breathe, the heart can’t bear
another somber Kaddish prayer.

Our fallen hero was a man,
a brother, father with grand old plans,
himself a child, his parents weep,
their eyes blood-red, the pain too deep.

With salty tears our souls embrace,
we offer prayers and solemn grace,
the price we pay cannot be told
beyond all treasures and precious gold.

Sorrow grips, a nation sighs,
sky sheds tears, we live, we die,
and in between, we wonder why,
Why be here and always cry?
Yakira Shimoni Fulks
January 25, 2024 | OC, California

Mix Media on Watercolor paper
October, 2023