Those tiny hands, meant to play with her hair, to eat colorful popsicles, to smother the food on her cheek,
Is now lying, hanging from one of the morgue beds, stained and splattered with blood, dripping like a pipe leak.
Those tiny feet of his, with those polished black shoes, meant to play in the field, get dirty and muddied, running around, with a ball.
But now those feet are tied up in a white shroud, lifeless, with flowers beneath, instead of being trampled upon, a fall.
What have these little cherubs done to deserve such an unspeakable and early goodbye, when they have barely have come into this world, just said a hi,
To such an outrageous world, when children are brought to suffer for somebody else’s mistakes, is everything a lie?
The religion, their teachings, for what they fight for, the utmost cause, does this help in any way?
To kill the tiny, innocent dreams and hopes, the future, does it help your war, these small minds, to slay?
-deeply saddened by the atrocious attacks on a school at Peshawar, Pakistan where more than 100 students were killed by terrorists on 16th December 2016