For they never were children
Fed by the sour milk of two vindictive gods,
their lullabies were the whistles of bombs,
their toys stones, debris, blessed bullets.
Fired in rage by a giant with no conscience,
they played at killing unknown enemies
and learnt how to hate instead of loving.
They shared more blood than holy bread
and greediness stole their right to smile,
their innocent games. The sound of guns
accompanied their dreams made of nightmares.
Used as human shields, as human bombs,
terror became their only unwanted friend
and heaven turned into hell, life into fear.
Their playgrounds gulped by ambitious prophets,
they saw their fathers fight, their fathers die,
their mothers shedding tears and losing hopes.
Some of them were shot while running in the streets,
their dark eyes trying to understand that creepy madness
and they always looked like desperate men.
For they never were children.