Right now, as we speak, there's a little boy, aged five Pushed aside on the corner of his mat, where he naps His fingers are clenched onto shredded crumbs of bread He managed to get his hands on this morning despite his mother's constant nags About having to save the last few bits for his new born sister Ashes and rubble are his best friends ever since he can remember Disturbance aches him no more For everything he's ever known are dents He wouldn't know what the other side of the rainbow looks like, let alone both For he's never encountered a rainbow during his yelps of pain Pressure, abundance of destruction, humiliation His innocent weeps never reach aid He is now used to it No more room to present emotion For everything he's encountered will forever be frozen in time He wouldn't know what peace is, ever For contrarily that would be foreign to him Therefore, somewhere in this world, silence takes over This little boy whose whole life has been built on lies and disruption