He sits in the heaps of rubble and dirt,
Watching the scene unfold in his mind’s eye -
Each time feeling the fear, pain and the hurt.
His throat tightens, and he tries not to cry.
This junk and tangled metal was once a home…
It breaks his heart that it exists no more.
Bombs fell; wrecked their life; their dreams were torn.
Alone. And nothing’s the way t’was before.
He digs in the debris and finds something
His little sister’s arm, bloodied and charred
The tears roll down, his anger makes him cringe,
And the broken arm, he flings, ‘cause it’s marred.
On their graves he lays a white carnation…
Praying for them and the dying nation.
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