Monday, October 7, 2013

He was a child

He has seen it all.
The death of his sisters and brothers,
his neighbors and father,
the young and the old.
In his eyes, the story of their death is told.

Family dead or not to be found,
Going to sleep to deafening sounds,
while another explosion trembles the ground.

Bullets fly through the sky,
Killing blindly with no thought to who will die,
A cousin,
a son,
a friend,
a brother,
an infant who cries out for his mother.

He was a child,
his father a regular civilian,
Now he's a statistic,
they say he is one in a million.

Arwa Abdulkadir Mohamud
Copyright © 2013

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