No stone throwing children
will die tonight
in the war of Middle East
feet tucked beside
brothers
and sisters,
in love with their country. The
day spent scurrying
door to archway
enemy tanks
soldiers In battle gear
the thwack of helicopter gun-ships
guns
bombs
and rockets
like expectant rainfall. Some
were heroes and death the reward
for others
children a reflection
of life's serenity.
Wrapped in widows and fear
wisdom abandons the
battleground.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem