by Sudeep Sen

Soaked in blood, children,

their heads blown out

even before they are formed.

Gauze, gauze, more gauze —

interminable lengths

not long enough to soak

all the blood in Gaza.

A river of blood flowing,

flooding the desert sands

with incarnadine hate.

An endless lava stream,

a wellspring red river

on an otherwise

parched-orphaned land,

bombed every five minutes

to strip Gaza of whatever

is left of the Gaza strip.

With sullied hands

of innocent children,

we strip ourselves

of all dignity and grace.

Look at the bodies

of the little ones killed —

their scarred faces smile,

their vacant eyes stare

with no malice

at the futility of all

the blood that is spilt.

And even as we refuse

to learn from the wasted

deaths of these children,

their parents, country,

world— weep blood. Stop

the blood-bath — heed, heal.

Sudeep Sen is widely recognised as a major new generation voice in world literature and ‘one of the finest younger English-language poets in the international literary scene’ (BBC Radio).