The Children of War in the Hills

We sit in wait for the elders to come home.
We spend our days counting the foodgrains,
We spend our nights counting the stars.
The roof of our house is falling apart but who’s to blame
Because all we know is how tight our mother’s hands hold us,
The smell of her blood will never leave us,it will stay.
We don’t know much but if what the cobbler uncle said is true,
We may learn to speak in new languages of anger,fear and forgiveness.
We’ve seen violence too old for our infant eyes,
We know a violent pain has swept our land,
We know that pain travels from the heart and ends up buried in the earth.
The sky above us seems sadder than the sky above
the children in the park and swimming pool.
Houses can hurt and clothes can become red,
And windows are safest when they stay shut and dark.
Our toys can burn and soldiers can die too.
We know we may not see each other the next day,
“Let’s take a picture now.”