Alx 🐈"A father wakes up at night, sees
the random colors on the walls
drawn by his four-year-old daughter.
The colors are about four feet high.
Next year, they would be five.
But the painter has died
in an air strike.
There are no colors anymore.
There are no walls."
extract from "Under the Rubble" by Mosab Abu Toha
Full poem here https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2024/10/07/under-the-rubble-mosab-abu-toha-poem
Archived: https://archive.is/2LRxk#selection-603.0-603.14
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