When kids play in the dust and rubble
that used to be their home,
there is no challenge or trouble
in pouring an ice bucket over your head.
With 500 children dead
and thousands left in life-destroying pain,
I’m pouring rubble
over my bald head.
Can you raise funds for a child
who’s paralysed from the neck down
even if it’s not from ALS
but rather from the IDF,
and still call it a challenge?
I call it a duty.
With no clean water,
and lucky to have survived,
Maha’s family mourn their daughter
while she's still alive.
When children play with
I cannot leave it to chance
for someone else to lend a hand
to clean up their playgrounds,
littered with the rubble
of human rights breaches.
Challenge or not,
I’m covered in rubble
-even before I pour-
it’s the debris of humanity;
the rubble of our collective soul.
Copyright © Francisco Rebollo 2014