They were from the north of Gaza
Their names were Ahmad and Azza

He was seven
She was eleven

Azza rode her bike
Ahmad loved his kite

One Friday morning, the sky was clear
Ahmad and Azza were in a field
Away from their home but nonetheless near

He was busy with the string
Trying to fly his kite

Her tiny hand was on the ring
While riding her bike

Suddenly he stopped
And looked to the skies
There it was a bigger kite
That flies and flies

Look up Azza Look up
He just said
Azza stopped pedaling
And turned her head

This kite is flying fast
Without any strings
It’s big and noisy
And has shinny wings

His heart was beating fast
Happy and amused
He waved his little hands
Never conscious of the ruse

But the big kite was coming closer
To the side of the road
Where it suddenly unleashed
Its mighty load

A fragment in time
But now they are dead
One hand holding his kite
The other on Azza’s head