Like a rusk in hot tea -
is hate in compassion.
Like sunshine through soft clouds -
is peace amidst violence.

An old man's hands are warmed in a boys palms,
As he teaches him the winters of his wars
With sickness, wrinkling and other men.
He fed the boy a rusk without hot tea
Under the clouds with weeping sunshine.
And cried: "our land is our land and not the other man's"

But what the man said, the boy forgot,
And the man and the other man
Were buried in same sand.
As the boy and the other man's boys,
Drank hot tea without their rusks,
Under the sun. Under a clear sky.