A child cries in exile, whimpers of pain gripped onto his soul. He asks, she asks; when will I be safe?
Why do men fight? Going to war like there is no tomorrow.
The pain is fleeting only when the children are sleeping but, they see, they hear and they know what adults are up to and they weep.
The smile of the child, taken by death; crippled to the bone is the laughter of the infant; for blood is spilling, soiling the sheets of purity.
War! War! It was there before and now it is blackening; thickening by it roots as vergence engulfs the little hearts of gold.
Why are we teaching our children more pain and grieve?
A child cries because she lives without a family; all taken in a struggle that could have been avoided.
Left for dead, no food or shelter. Child of sorrows, weep no more for the time will change entirely tomorrow.
Where is that land that the singers sang about?
Where is that earth from which the drummers forged a beat?
It’s all gone; engulfed by greed and lust of the soul. Lost in the wilderness, no cry of help is heard.
Our earth is wailing and so are our children. Can we create a new place for them, where to hide when the tide changes right now.
A child cries for the old days of peace; when the tress stood tall, swaying in majesty with the abundant fruit.
Don’t burn to ashes what is left of the world; for the sake of our children, let’s hold hands and embrace.
Let’s rebuild the broken walls, brink by brink; step by step our world can be a better place.
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