Think of the children of Palestine, living orphans
Others massacred by bloodthirsty drones and missiles,
Murdered without mercy
By hunger, thirst and bullets
Think of their decapitated limbs
Their hearts torn apart
Wounded, despised, like red poppies
Dried in a vase without water on a table
In a corner of some house
That no longer exists
Also torn apart
However, do not forget the red poppy
The red poppy of Palestine
Stained, dirty with blood
The same color as the blood spilled today
The dried, dehydrated red poppy
That will be justly defied
Antonio Mozeto 