A Poem for Gilad Shalit

I’m not a hostage to fortune
Or a whipping boy
I am a quiet vessel
Replete with hope

I will walk up the stairs
Of Shiffa hospital’s basement
Across the stones of Tallel Howa
And the green plains of Zeitun
towards Raffah

1000’s of men and women
will walk toward me
I and they will  see
Only our mothers, our fathers
Will take us inside tents,
Open on four sides, will wash
Our feet, our hands, feed us
And then we’ll be given
Ploughshares.

by Yvonne Green

June 2010

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