by Ahmad Baker
May the fourth, they say,
be with you—
and I smiled,
as I thought of her,
A child in a tent of torn cloth.
A one-tonne bomb fell,
her last breath—
not of heroes,
but of hunger’s echo in a tent.
A life unlived,
before bread touched her lips,
before letters formed beneath her hand,
before a free Palestine
could bloom in her young heart.
May the force be with you.
May the force be with memory,
with witness,
with refugees,
With every child, yours, or mine
with every chant for a free Palestine
Ahmad Baker
May 2025
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