The children are running and stumbling A humbling experience, but deliverance Is only gained here by running in fear Away from those who hate and **** And warp the will of those too young To see people hung and murdered.
So they are herded with the living Into an unforgiving world of pain None should see, even less see again But they remain in these clusters Mustering and lining up for food A homeless brood of adopted waifs That should be naifs instead of this, Nomads, glad of a blanket for bed On the hard ground, all they found To call home during flight, for tonight,
Not all are children, but the hurt From blurted out hateful names Is not the same for the young ones Who should be having fun and not Suffering through this hell they got From being born in the right city In a time of no pity and no rescue, No kindness the world should do, Instead they cringe from angry faces As if they were disgraces for living. Nothing left for giving to them.
These are orphans now, not sons Not daughters, what was begun Has ended for them, permanently While nations stand by silently Watching the perfidy and sighs, Ignorant of their cries and destitution. No restitution can ever come to some. To most there is only memory of death And running, out of breath, nowhere Because nobody is there for them. It is their problem.