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You have grown up earlier than you can bear, and you have helped me carry a burden that is unbearable… You have broken the shield of innocence … You have soared with my wound and have befallen wounded yourself… You cried my son and made me cry with you… You read with me and asked thousands of questions; and one question concerned you the most: Why this injustice, dad?!
I adored your soft fingers cutting the glass, tears filled my eyes, the blood of glass on your hands bled me… A lover looking at justice, thus I cherished your soul… You accompanied me with passion and innocence, and I repeatedly wiped the dust off your toys… You entangled yourself in the details. I fought with you and bought you new toys. I thought you were a mere child and I wished for you to stay a child, but you were destined to become your fate and the fate of your generations on the shores of the Mediterranean, in Palestine: to mature earlier than the children of the world.
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