By Huda Zafreen
Little hands search the garbage,
For food to eat,
But find carnage.
Scrawny limbs, see-through skin
They search for their missing kin;
Lost to them in the dead of night.
Stones tied , round the stomach.
They try to quell the severe hunger,
Search the soil for even a pea.
But alas! there are none to see,
Not a drop to quench the thirst,
That hurts the tongue,
And burns the gut.
They sleep in fits,
To the sound of hits
A living nightmare is what they live.
A small child, no more than seven.
Looks to the sky, praying to the heavens.
“Why are they cruel? so oppressive?”
They’ve left me orphaned and depressive.
He sheds tears in painful silence,
Wishing for the day he’ll be united.