The Doomed Children
Thundering in the sky, then rain of missiles...
See how they are fleeing arms outstretched
Like the broken wings of storm-hit birds,
And see their faces white with fear and hunger
And hear their throbbing voice of pain and loss...
Over their head, the sky's no kites or clouds,
But fire and fire amidst engulfing smoke,
And they are running like the Napalm girl
From Vietnam, or standing clueless, like
The standing boy from Nagasaki, before
Their elders who are whispering in fear
Or staring helpless in the gauge of Death...
They are the children caught in every war zone.
They hear not bedtime tales but sirens of death
For them, the school bell sounds not, only death knell
The rhythm of their lonesome life vanishes
Like breath on glass; beneath the fading light
Does fall their evening games to dreadful game
Of war the grown-ups play sans rules or rhymes.
It's no more snatching 'way from them their toys
Or knees with scraping wounds that meant them violence,
But it now means to them their nights and days
Do wrap them up no hands or legs or both.
They have no home, no school, no ground of freedom
But sole refugee camps and hospitals
If marching death has spared them of their life.
But destructions have been left unleashed.
Nowhere to get to, they are running through
A maze as streets have twisted into rubble.
They are in utter chaos, afraid and broken.
Everything looks to them upside down in
Their knee-high, tiny world of mangled metal
And rubbled ground
They are in want of food, of sleep, of rapture,
With loads of hunger, trauma, pain and torture.
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