HORROR STRUCK, standing like a rock-
dumbfounded. Staring at the tragedy playing out
before our eyes. One moment children skipping.
Playing innocent games. Forgetful of the war.
It's cruel indifference heard in a rifle shot.
The ricochet, heralding screams of pain.
Like a rock we are immobilized.
The enormity of horror played
Out before our eyes, belies
the joy of children playing and skipping.
Shredded bodies are strewn
on the cold, cold ground.
Sirens wailing, parents distinctly howling
Armed forces dealing deaths.
Soldiers coursing through city streets
forget the child at play.
One ricochet decimating joy.
Turning, running to lift the child.
Giving succor until help arrives.
All the while holding the child.
Like a rock, for ever after wards shell shocked.
Trapped in that moment when,
innocence ceased. Now all that's
left are, ghostly cries of children yelling.
How we wish, as we stand around
for the sound of skipping ropes
slapping the ground.
Only sound we hear.
Is a ricochet.