The children look at the fire works in the sky casually <br />big hungry tummies playing with blood stained mud <br />half widows pull them beyond crumbling walls <br />where bread and water is traded for weapons <br /> <br /> <br />They play among burnt tires and bullet ridden bodies <br />running after the brightly colored cluster bombs <br />they sleep under the broken roof and air raids <br />haunted by the demons of approaching death <br /> <br />organized violence, political intercourse <br />my lai, pilot less drones, midnight knock syndrome, <br />little boy fat man, just war, gas chambers <br />wheelbarrows for ambulances, collateral damage <br /> <br /> <br />maybe we did not start it but how can we stand it? <br />time does not heal, happiness and peace is not real <br />if children are the future, they are suffering and dying <br />trivializing the gift of life and the cruelty of death <br />if it is the adult's game, how come the children lose?<br /><br />Reshma Ramesh<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-the-adults-go-to-war/
