On the heap of his ruined house he sits,
And thinks of his past, with photograph in bits
In the stagnant silence of night,
He hears the voices, the laughter bright.
The years he spent in that place,
With his family in time of solace.
Those flashes of innocent joys,
Move past his moistened eyes,
The warm hugs of dad and mum,
His little sister's smile and the love of his chum
But all is dust and rubble
The family is no more,
His little boat capsized no prospect off the shore
Left homeless, like millions in this turmoil,
Knows nothing of "terrorism", "petroleum" or "oil".
His family too succumbed to persecution
At the hands of a mighty nation
horrifying actualization of Man's brutality
Destroying all: life, love, utility,
Frozen in shock and fear, the child looks up,
With pleading eyes, to the heavens above.
"Why this suffering? Why this pain?
Why no shower of mercy rain?
Our native land, is it no more ours?
He went on asking, the silent stars
He remembered then, his bed- time story
Of the friendship of the three little birds.
"Nature is kind" he thought,
"But man isn't", he reflected
And in that moment he grew up years
"He will live, and not be like men"
Consciousness, a lifelong gem
This moment alighted another star
A beacon of hope in his little heart
At all destruction, he cast a final look,
As a mighty turn his life took.
He started taking his steps back,
To chalk for himself a different track.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
All articles are written by various members of the Shifa Student Society.