Their blood flows daily, a crimson tide,
Innocence shattered, where can they hide?
My child, your child—they laugh, they play,
So too do they, yet they're swept away.
What crime is theirs? What harm can they do?
They dream of skies painted in hues of blue.
No schemes of power, no politics known,
Just tender hearts in a fragile zone.
Slaughtered, bombed with a ruthless might,
Their cries extinguished in the dead of night.
Relentless hands of a merciless fate,
Where is the peace we once called great?
What of humanity, its fragile flame,
Burnt to embers in war’s cruel name?
In their silence, a deafening plea,
Echoes for justice, for dignity free.
So weep for the children, the innocent, pure,
And seek a world where love may endure.
For every drop spilled, a question remains:
Who will answer their unspoken pains?
A poem on innocent children of Palestine