Red dirt footprints tell this story,
follow them in to battle.
Follow them to their graves
for being brave little soldiers.

It's hard to hear these silent knights cry.
Invisible pawns,
serving a king in a game they are too young to understand.
The only shooting stars they wish upon
are warlords, whose bullets light up the night sky.

How are these boys supposed to become men?
All snakes, no ladders.
Thrown in at the deep end with lions and wolves,
these cubs don't stand a chance.

This is a whole new jungle book,
one with so many birds with clipped wings,
too many saplings cut down before their time,
an army of children letting clips ring.
Deprived of the bare necessities.