how much longer will this last?

It was blinding. As I adjusted to the brightness, I surveyed the surroundings around us. There were not many children around; I realised we were in the city area, where the buildings were those comparable to our home, and it was just a typical busy afternoon.

Refugee. That was a new word I learnt when we reached Gaza. My dad introduced us as refugees and went around seeking help, looking for a place to settle down. I did not know what 'refugee' meant. Did it mean we were rich and powerful people? I suppose so. After all, we had quite a reputation in Jerusalem.

We soon found a place, a temporary sanctuary in this foreign circumstances. I was feeling sticky, and my shirt had a huge brown patch, the result of my carelessness while in the tunnel.

"Dad, can I have a bath? I smell SO bad!"

My father ignored me, and I saw that he was busy giving instructions to the servants.

".... guard the doors at night, be vigilant at ALL times."

I knew there was a war in Jerusalem, but surely it wouldn't affect us in the south-west Gaza, would it? I did not much about it. I was dead beat from the long trek to Gaza, so much so that the moment I found a bed, I lay down and slowly drifted off to sleep.

I was all groggy when I woke up. I began to explore what was left in the house. Something caught my eye. A letter was on the ground near my bed. I picked it up.. I pulled out two pieces of paper. I found a poem and a letter. What could be in those?