On the plateau, at distance, I saw a large tree with multi colored leaves, on each one was printed a commercial poem, a verse for every occasion and written as not to hurt any one's feelings. I asked for a poem about unjust wars in the Middle East, the tree had none but I was offered a few about World War One. All wars are just and the winner get to write the rules.
The tree, stood inside rolls of mesh wire, and no copy pens allowed within a radius of fifty yards. A storm came, blew the wire around like tumble weed, leaves ' torn from the tree ' flew in the air and transformed into grooming tropical birds cooing about love. I did find a pale green leaf, almost transparent, on it was written in blood; 'Gaza is my name let me not die in vain'
