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Poetry - Chapter 6
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…A tiny bundle, he was peeking out…
…Of the decayed bodies that lied around…
…Among fumes of hate and weeping mothers…
…He sat there beaming at me, unlike others…
…●●●●●●…
…I was there too, with that camera in hand…
…Forced to capture brutality in the wailing sand…
…Thy found, more precious than searched…
…They were the eyes of a child, not stained or bemirched…
…●●●●●●…
…I laid low and perhaps returned it back…
…But before I did, the gunshot blacked…
…That light gone, withered in the puddle of clothes…
…I silenced the sobs, I muffled the moans…
…●●●●●●…
…Of mine and those who were shot like him…
…Of those men and women who were killed on whim…
…Of children abandoned and left to die…
…Of countrymen, who threw away their lives…
…●●●●●●…
…For what? A piece of earth that belongs to none…
…When it is the very peace that unites us in one…
…Bloodshed and graves, what was the price?…
…The child who died and the echo of his cries….
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