who live under bombs falling   children
   nearby who have lost more than anyone
      should ever lose in a lifetime
        living in tents, among mud
and for mothers who send their children
     out each morning to queue
      for a day’s ration of soup to keep
        the family from starving   children
who have become wise
     in the cruelty of the world   children
      who have seen white body bags
        have heard adults mourning losses   children
who stand with mouths agape, eyes
     wide as saucers as they learn
      what the world is, what hate looks like
        our prayers are our only weapons
politicians spew political dogma, alliances
     and treaties as they call for peace
      but there is no peace as barefoot children
        gingerly carry pots of soup back to their tents
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