and exactly there he was sitting
on the footpath
that tribal child in exile
and those turquoise blue eyes were like
that they carried the whole universe inside
his cold hands and colder spine
shows he belonged to a paradise
but was left over in this disguise
and his blonde curls
holding the unanswered question for this world
and that amateur soul seemed to be quite unpacified
those hands of an angel
were bruised
those little fingers blocked his ears
as if he was hiding from his fears
his face indulged with innocence
his eyes silently shouting for help
and that poignant heart
that was too young to hate
but too terrified to love
but what made me curious was
that lad who is supposed to be afraid of dark
laid motionless suspecious with that blood and those marks
and all over him blood was spitting out
and lying next to him was an army of dead bodies
and their bodies sprinkled blood out
as if they were dead from an hour or about
and then the blast was heard
but till then he became familiar with that
so this time it didn't shake him away
nor did he hide himself behind the fern
as if he was waiting for his turn
just asking a painless death in return
but not from a bomb or a gun
and then exactly there he was burnt
and now he laid dead
and his burnt face
asking why he was punished for mistake
he never committed his ears still revebirating
the noise of bomb and guns
his lips still questioning what he did wrong
his soul still asking for justice
asking the questions that this wast world too small to answer
what if those hands would have hold pen instead of guns
what if that soul would have experienced love instead of pain
what if that brain would have dreamt instead of suffering from depression and detachment
what if those eyes would have seen teachers instead of terrorist
because that's exactly what kids are made for
at the age of storing their dreams in theirs drawers they become nothing in this brutal world
but just victims of the wars....