They never held a soldier’s gun,
Nor marched beneath a dying sun.
They only wished for toys and dreams,
Not blood-soaked dust and shattered screams.
They built small castles in the sand,
Drew stars and suns with tender hand.
They chased the wind, they laughed and ran—
Too young to know the schemes of man.
But thunder came from man-made skies,
And fire fell before their eyes.
The lullabies were drowned in fear,
Their nightlight now a burning tear.
No cause they knew, no flags, no pride,
Just fear that wouldn't run or hide.
The world around them broke apart,
While hope lay bleeding at their heart.
A doll was crushed beneath a wall,
A ball lay still in crumbled hall.
Small fingers reached through smoke and flame,
But never found someone to name.
What sin had they? What lines they crossed?
What crime was worth a life so lost?
What justice lies in battle’s wake,
When innocence is what we break?
They are not soldiers, not the foe—
Just eyes too bright for death to know.
Just voices lost in foreign lands,
While silence slips through broken hands.
O world, how cold your heart has grown,
To watch them die and turn to stone.
To count their deaths as “collateral,”
And never hear their final call.
The sand will never hold their prints,
The trees won’t hear their whispered hints.
The schoolyard swings sway in the breeze,
Unburdened now by laughing knees.
Yet still we fight, and still we claim
That war is just—a noble flame.
But what is just in death so small,
In children crushed beneath it all?
Let every leader speak their lie,
But let them look a child and try
To justify a burning town,
A tiny hand, face turned face-down.
Their blood writes poems in the street,
Where verses end beneath our feet.
And we, who live, must bear the cost—
For every child the world has lost.
Jul 27, 2025
Jul 27, 2025 at 1:04 PM UTC
They never held a soldier’s gun,
Nor marched beneath a dying sun.
They only wished for toys and dreams,
Not blood-soaked dust and shattered screams.
They built small castles in the sand,
Drew stars and suns with tender hand.
They chased the wind, they laughed and ran—
Too young to know the schemes of man.
But thunder came from man-made skies,
And fire fell before their eyes.
The lullabies were drowned in fear,
Their nightlight now a burning tear.
No cause they knew, no flags, no pride,
Just fear that wouldn't run or hide.
The world around them broke apart,
While hope lay bleeding at their heart.
A doll was crushed beneath a wall,
A ball lay still in crumbled hall.
Small fingers reached through smoke and flame,
But never found someone to name.
What sin had they? What lines they crossed?
What crime was worth a life so lost?
What justice lies in battle’s wake,
When innocence is what we break?
They are not soldiers, not the foe—
Just eyes too bright for death to know.
Just voices lost in foreign lands,
While silence slips through broken hands.
O world, how cold your heart has grown,
To watch them die and turn to stone.
To count their deaths as “collateral,”
And never hear their final call.
The sand will never hold their prints,
The trees won’t hear their whispered hints.
The schoolyard swings sway in the breeze,
Unburdened now by laughing knees.
Yet still we fight, and still we claim
That war is just—a noble flame.
But what is just in death so small,
In children crushed beneath it all?
Let every leader speak their lie,
But let them look a child and try
To justify a burning town,
A tiny hand, face turned face-down.
Their blood writes poems in the street,
Where verses end beneath our feet.
And we, who live, must bear the cost—
For every child the world has lost.
#war
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