By Alia Zehra
Houses tumble into bricks, trees burn into smoke,
Doors collapse, windows break,
Water trickles,
Till it doesn't anymore.
Food lessens,
Till there isn't anymore.
Helpers fall one by one,
In a line that spares no one.
Youth or infirmity, What art thou?
In the eyes of the trigger,
A deathly vow?
But when all that,
You can touch and see,
Crumbles with a tortured plea,
Something does remain.
Under rubble and terrain,
It is that which can't be touched,
The courage, faith, spirit of Man.
Mingled with fear and sorrow,
But with hope for the morrow.
Which bulldozers can't demolish,
Which bombs cannot dismantle,
Which snipers cannot shoot.