Opinion Editorials, May 2012

A Child's Hand in the Rubble

 a Poem By Sam Hamod

(dedicated to all the children being killed in all the wars)

a child’s hand in the rubble

is not the same as a hand on a child--

why is it that parents

allow old men and women to make  wars?

***

it was shiny,  just below the water

stuck in the sand,

shiny,

Mohammed put his hand on it,

suddenly,

his body and blood were on

all of his friends

cluster bomb

***

and who remembers

the zoo in Rafah,

the one that was destroyed at 3 a.m.

by tanks and bulldozers, killing

the animals, children huddled inside,

and the dream of children

for another day

***

ah, but with wars, time passes too quickly

and everyday’s  killings all blend into one

so that the children and their times

and circumstances

blur in time

blur

blur from green, to blue to black to gray

then disappear

***

for children

war is only a game they play,

unless you are a child in a war zone,

then it’s no game, 

there is no laughter, no second chance

it is life and death each moment,

---even if a  fragment, rocket or

 cluster bomb doesn’t get you,

fear kills you each day,

until after a while

you’re not sure if you are dead or alive

***

Dr. Sam Hamod,  drsamhamod@gmail.com

Editor, www.contemporaryworldliterature.com

Editor, www.todaysalternativenews.com

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