To the People of the World

This is the story that must be told
Of an Iraqi baby, not very old
Lying in her crib one star-lit night
How could she know of those planes in flight?

She lay there quietly touching her nose
Watching her mobile, wiggling her toes
Oohing and cooing, so sweetly is she
Talking to someone, who could it be?
An angel is standing with her in the room
The baby is smiling, unaware of her doom
The crib starts to shake and the mobile goes round
And suddenly comes a most deafening sound
The ceiling drops in, in a second or two .
On top of her crib so she ceases to coo …
No one knows how long she lay there
Who thought about it? doesn’t anyone care?
Is she alive? is she dead? Is she in any pain?
Now that you mention it, who knows her name?
Her name is Amal.  In English we say Hope
Crushed between the rubble

Her tiny fingers start to grope
“Where is my mummy? I love her so dear
Come, get me mummy! It’s dark in here!
I’m scared and I’m hungry and I can’t see my feet
There’s blood in my mouth! Give me something to eat!
Where is my daddy? Where’s my big brother?
It hurts when I breath! Where is my mother?!
How long have I been here? Is this just a dream?
I open my mouth, but can’t even scream
That angel appears once again to my side,
This time with a tear I plead, ‘Why have I died?’
Am I alone in my sufferings? No, there are many others
In our grief and our misery, we are sisters and brothers

Who are we? I ask you… for what crime did we die?
They’re throwing a party! Doesn’t anyone cry?!

Is it True? Am I nothing?! How could it be?
Don’t they also have babies, just like me?
‘It is war’, they say, of which death is part
How blind they’ve become, how hardened of heart

Did someone say ‘hero’? To whom do they speak?
A victory claimed for killing the weak?!
Why are they happy? Why are they proud?
Don’t they know that I’m cold in my burial shroud?!
No war has been won; no ifs, buts, or maybes,
They’ve only killed us innocent, helpless babies.”

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